


Wild in a Rush of Wind

by rivlee



Series: No Dominion [2]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oenomaus finds a half-dead Duro on the sands of ludus. He brings him to a temple of Magna Mater to rest and heal. An alternate canon au of <i>Spartacus: Vengeance</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning** : References to past non-con, slavery, and religious life. (Elill is one of the Corybantes of Magna Mater, considered neither male nor female among the Romans.) 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the Starz television series Spartacus.

**Introduction** :

The smell of death and blood was everywhere. It clung to the very air that flowed through the ludus. Everything was quiet now, since the Rebels barged down the hillside pass and into the city. Oenomaus would not, could not join them. This was his home and he had a penance to pay for what was done. He would attend to the body of Quintus, the least he could do to honor the friendship and memory of Titus. He never imagined, all those years ago, when Titus rescued a monster of a boy from the Pits it would turn to this utter devastation. Ashur, the slithering snake, was around here somewhere. Oenomaus would hunt him again after this one final pass. He would force himself to remember what this house made him, what he’d become, how he was now a man without honor.   
He started to cross the sea of blood and sand from the house to the cells when a distinct gurgling caught his ear. That wheezing suggested life still clung to one of the wounded. Oenomaus quickly passed through the mass of bodies and came to a halt.

_Duro_. One of the German brothers. Agron insisted he was dead; such a loss had unleashed a fearsome rage. A whole stack of beheaded bodies near the door spoke of that loss of sanity. He quickly took note of Duro’s injuries. Blood still seeped from the wound though his skin burned with fever.

Oenomaus placed a hand under Duro’s nose. The breath was still in him, stuttering but present. Oenomaus looked to the house and then back to Duro. There was nothing he could salvage here, no act of penance enough to make up for his treachery. He could save this life though, at least make the attempt. 

He tried not to think himself a common thief as he stole cloaks and jewels off the dead. He’d need to conceal them and where Oenomaus planned to go would require some sort of sacrifice. Spartacus was crafty enough not to take the more ostentatious jewels; they would be suspicious on those who spoke Latin with rough tongues and rougher manners. The temple he sought would have no qualms. 

His legged throbbed from Ashur’s wound while his head ached from all the consequences of this night. It took him an hour longer than planned to reach the side door to the Temple of Magna Mater. The priests of the Great Mother were foreigners and former slaves by law; no Roman citizen could dwell among them. Melitta always favored them for that reason alone. Outsiders just like the rest of them she always said. 

He had not traveled this road since right after her death. He wondered how much had changed in five years. If familiar faces still dwelled within or if they had passed on to the next life. He shifted Duro and knocked on the door. It was late but he knew they would always answer.

A hooded figured emerged from the other side. 

“What do you seek of the Mysteries?” the priest asked.

“I seek nothing of them. Only Elill, if he is present.”

“You seek his favor or a witness of his devotion?”

“I seek his aid,” Oenomaus said through gritted teeth. “Tell him the husband of Melitta is at the door. He will give me entrance.”

The priest looked at Oenomaus and Duro then out into the empty streets. The moonlight glinted off the long-jeweled chains flowing over the visible strand of the eunuch’s hair. “Come inside to wait. I would not seek Elill’s wrath if you were to catch your death.”

There were hushed words that echoed through the stone walls of the housing section. Few saw this part of the temple where the priests, the Galli, and the fighting dancers, the Corybantes, dwelled. No self-respecting Roman worth his reputation would allow himself among the followers who were neither man nor woman in eyes of Roman law. There were all eunuchs, either having undergone a physical or sacrificial castration. They prayed to the goddess through dance, magic, hallucinogenic herbs, raving madness, and sacred prostitution. 

The Elill he last saw when Melitta still lived was a gangly youth coming into his own form. Even then his face hinted to the beauty he would become, a nose and jawline he would grow into. Melitta always said any flaws in his looks would be forgiven when met with those eyes. They were all-knowing, even as a child, telling of horrors already lived. They shone with youthful mischief then but now they met him with an altogether different knowledge. His movements were with a practiced pace and sensuality, one who knew he was forever to be an object of desire whether he willed it or not. 

“I did not think you yet lived,” Elill teased. His long hair was unbound and he was without adornment or paint on his face. Few of the Roman worshipers would ever see him so plain. 

“I have had duties,” Oenomaus said. “I have strayed from them now and seek your assistance. You know the art of healing here.”

Elill stepped forward suddenly, finally seeing that Oenomaus held up another. Duro was not the dearest of his students and yet he still found it difficult to hand him over; to give up that final connection.

“He burns with fever. This one is almost for the afterlife.” Elill pulled his hand back and made a face at the blood. “He should see a medicus, Oenomaus. This may well lie beyond our skills here.”

“I cannot take him. There will be questions.”

“For you both, I see.” Elill pointed to the wound on Oenomaus’ leg. “Come, we will go back into the healing rooms.” He easily took Duro’s weight. “Solon,” he called to the priest, “do us a favor and clean this mess. If any guards should come, turn them away.”

“And why should we risk such?”

Elill voice was commanding when he spoke, “Oenomaus’ wife was a dear devotee of ours, long before your time.”

“I have payment,” Oenomaus said. He pulled the bag of jewels from his belt. “I suggest you dismantle those and loosen the jewels before any can ask their origin.”

Solon took the bag and made an impressed face. “We were in need of gold to melt down. This will do us well. Gratitude.”

Oenomaus knew here none would question any illegal activity. Many were forced into this service, taken as slaves and required to act as religious leaders. Even those who truly believed held little love for the Romans, not with their treatment.

“I know not what you’ve brought to my doorstep, Oenomaus,” Elill said as he laid Duro down on a bed of clean linen. “I fear it will bring nothing but death.”

“It may well bring worse,” Oenomaus admitted. He could not seek words of false comfort, not now.

Perhaps the morning would see him to a better light. He knew those words came from the last parts of him that still clung to Melitta’s memories for comfort. Oenomaus knew well the world was forever changed. There would be no rest, no safety, and no peace from this night on.


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References in this chapter to religious castration and sacred prostitution.**

There were hands on Duro’s face. They were soothing, dabbing at him with a cold cloth. His voice struggled in his chest. He wanted to thank them, those comforting hands, yet no words formed. He could not even manage to open his eyes. 

“Shh,” a musical voice whispered. “Calm yourself. You are safe. You will be well.”

Duro returned to the darkness before he could respond. He came to hearing a voice softly singing in words of a tongue he could not recognize. He smelled figs and balsam. Something soft drifted over his face and he inhaled a burst of cinnamon. “You still fight,” a voice whispered in his ear. “Such a spirit in you.”

He was out again before he could make proper response. 

It felt a year passed until he finally forced open his eyes. He could sense someone else in the room but he did not know yet if he could turn his head. He coughed and gagged from a horribly dry mouth and throat.

“You’re awake,” an older boy with blazing green eyes exclaimed. He leaned over Duro, patting his face and nodding. These were not the hands Duro knew and he wondered at that. “I shall find, Elill. He will be so pleased you are with us.”

The boy scrambled off and Duro listened to the echoing slap of his sandals on stone floor. He looked at the ceiling above him and gasped. It was glorious; richly detailed paintings of another world. He could discern the shape of an unfamiliar lettering in the low lamplight. It was naturally dark here with no windows cut in the stone. They must be underground since it was so cold. It would explain the pile of furs Duro could feel covering him. 

There was the sound of rushing clothes, of clacking bells and beads, and suddenly the handsome face of a young man leaned over Duro. 

“Oenomaus was correct; you were not destined for the afterlife yet.” He pressed the back of his hand to Duro’s forehead. “Fever is gone for now. Let us see how the wound is healing.”

Duro hissed at the sudden rush of cold air and it set off a round of coughing. 

“Iodocus forgot to give you a drink. Of course, he did. That boy.” The man disappeared and returned with a cup. “I am going to help lift your head now. You’ve had nothing but strained broth for five days. Drink slowly.” 

Duro placed his rough hands over the soft ones that held the cup and took a slow and steady drink.

“My brother,” he rasped once the cup was removed. 

There was compassion in the confused eyes that watched him. “I do not know. You must ask Oenomaus.”

Duro knew no such name. “Who is he?”

“I thought you not to have a head wound. Perhaps I was mistaken.” He reached out to touch Duro’s head again but Duro ducked. “Are you in pain?”

There was a horrible feeling churning in his stomach. He realized in that moment how very much alone he was in this unknown place surrounded by strangers. He was weak but that had never stopped his mouth before.

“Who are you? Where am I? And who the fuck is Oenomaus?”

The man’s lips quirked and it was clear he fought a smile. “I was correct; there is a spirit within you. I am Elill, the one who has spent many an hour at your side trying to entice you back to the living. I see that may have been a mistake. And here I am giving up my bed and ruining my clothes with blood stains for an ungrateful barbarian.”

“Apologies,” Duro muttered. “I did not mean offense.”

“You did yet I care not. I’ve had too many honeyed lies in my life to not appreciate honesty even if it comes from a coarse tongue with even coarser language. You are in the temple of Magna Mater in Capua. Oenomaus is the man you called Doctore. From what I’ve come to understand, you are healing from quite the wound to your abdomen thanks to a Roman guard. The city is currently in a state of chaos thanks to your little uprising and here we are, under the temple, exchanging pleasantries and greetings.”

Duro knew he was staring but couldn’t bring himself to stop. “You lack reason.”

Elill shrugged. “I have been accused of worse.”

Duro wanted to laugh. His eyelids started to close instead.

“Do not fight it,” Elill advised. “You need rest.”

“Will you be here when I awake?”

Elill wrung out the cloth in the water bowel and placed it over Duro’s forehead. “Yes, and while you sleep, whether you like it or not.”

“I do like it. You were the one who sang.” He knew, he could tell from the feeling Elill’s voice gave him. 

“I did.”

“Will you do it now?”

“I might, if you agree to sleep.”

Duro let his eyes drop. He let out a sigh of contentment as those hands soothed back his hair and the familiar humming started. He would worry about everything else when he was stronger. For now, Duro would take this luxury of rest while he still could. He knew, just as he knew instinctually that somewhere Agron’s heart still beat, this peace would not last for long. 

 

****************************

Oenomaus was there when Duro awoke again. He tried to force his limbs out of the bed, to demand to see Agron, but he could not move more than an inch.

“On your back again,” Oenomaus said as he helped Duro lean back. “Elill will have my head if you reopen that wound.”

Duro didn’t even have the energy to curse. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to speak through the pain. “My brother—”

“Thinks you have already left this world. You will not survive with the Rebels, Duro. You _must_ heal. The gods saw fit to spare you from certain death. A man without honor stands before you, but I will not besmirch a blessing of life returned.”

Duro would’ve laughed if he could. All the times Doctore spoke of Duro’s end in the arena being a fact and _now_ the man tried to save him. A selfish act, he supposed, not to save Duro but to restore honor to a full of shit family he still felt allegiance towards. 

“Is that why you brought me to this temple?”

“I brought you here because the officiants are no friends of the Romans. They will hide you here and let you heal. No Roman would expect to find an escaped German slave among the Galli.”

“And why is that?”

“From what I’ve heard from your brother and Donar, you value your men’s virility.”

“Don’t all?”

“The Galli are eunuchs, Duro. None of the priests here are considered men in the eyes of the Romans and their law.”

Duro wondered if he should be bothered by it all. Oenomaus’ tone implied such but Duro understood how slaves worked in the Roman world. Little of it was their own choice. Elill and Iodocus had caused him no harm, even at his most vulnerable, and Duro had no reason to judge them.

“I must find Agron,” he said. 

“You will once you are capable of turning your head without aid.”

The same Doctore then, forever teaching lessons veiled with polite insult. 

“Hamilcar is dead,” Duro said. He remembered watching his friend fall before fighting a wave of guards.

Oenomaus nodded and leaned against the stone wall beside the bed. “I tried to give him proper rites before sending him over the cliff. Better to be down there than to see what the Romans did to the other corpses.”

“Who else survived?”

“Duro, it is doubtful they all still live.”

“Who,” he demanded. 

“Spartacus and Crixus. Your brother, Donar, the other German.”

Donar was barely recovered from an illness that kept him under the medicus’ watch for a month. What good would _he_ be to watch Agron’s back?

“Lydon, Liscus, Tychos, Fortis, Rhaskos, and many others. At least eighty left the villa along with a group of house-slaves.”

“Spartacus still fights to his purpose then.”

“He seems determined to see it to its end.”

“You think him foolish,” Duro accused. 

Oenomaus’ steady gaze met his own. “I think he has condemned every last one of us to death.”

“We were not all to meet Death in the arena? As sport for those who stripped away our freedom and sold as fucking cattle?”

Duro shouldn’t have yelled. It caused a coughing fit and his side and chest burned by the time he was finished.

“I should not speak such words with you until you are healed,” Oenomaus said. He held out a cup of odious smelling brew to Duro. “Elill insisted you drink that if you started coughing again.” 

“ _This_ may well send me to my death.”

He could’ve sworn a hint of a smile graced Oenomaus face. “Give my greetings to Hamilcar then, if it does.”

************************

When Duro woke again he could not tell if it was day or night. He assumed day because Iodocus’ curious eyes were peering at him from the edge of the bed.

“Hello, again,” Duro croaked.

“Hello,” Iodocus said. “Elill told us to watch you. He has to entertain today. A private performance for the former magistrate’s cousin.”

“Yes, I am sure he’s taking deep pleasure in the fact he’s supposed to be blessing Seppius’ troops in their effort to find the Rebels. Little do they know we have one right here,” a man said.

“Have me met?” Duro asked.

“Not while you were conscious.” He held out a jeweled hand. “I am Solon, a priest of Cybele.”

“A Galli then,” Duro said as he took Solon’s hand. 

“Yes. Elill thought you hadn’t heard of us.”

“I haven’t. Oenomaus vaguely explained a few things.”

“He is a vague man from what I’ve observed,” Solon agreed. 

Solon’s hair was long like all the priests here. It was obviously bleached white and strands of jewels were weaved through the locks. He was striking, just like Elill, but less of stature and a smaller frame. The Romans must’ve picked them all on their beauty, or the promise therein. Even Iodocus, still so young, showed hints of becoming a handsome man. 

“What is your purpose here?” he asked. Oenomaus hadn’t made that clear. 

“We worship the Great Mother,” Iodocus intoned. 

Duro tilted his head to look at Solon. “You’re going to clarify that?”

Solon waved his hand. “I suppose I should if Elill hasn’t bothered. He never was one for the histories, at least not of Cybele. Long ago when Hannibal was doing his best to defeat Rome there was a prophecy. It stated that if the Great Mother was brought to Rome, they would defeat their enemy. They brought part of her here, some say just a rock from Mt. Ida other says a whole boulder containing her essence and set her in the temple with the other gods in Rome.”

“So you are a foreign religion brought to Rome where they force foreigners to practice for the sake of _their_ worship and protection?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“You willingly castrated yourself?”

Solon nodded. “I was too young and not strong enough for the Corybantes. I feared what would happen if I refused. I had nowhere else to go. At least here I have food, shelter, coin, and protection.”

Duro didn’t know what Corybantes were but he’d come to that later. “You worship a goddess you do not believe in then?”

“I do not call her Magna Mater or Cybele in my head. She will always be Astarte to me.”

“That was her name where you came from?”

“In Sidon, yes,” Solon said. 

“And Iodocus, where do you come from?” Duro asked. 

Iodocus’ brow wrinkled under his reddish-brown hair as he thought. “The north, a land across the sea. I remember the ship. We were captured in Gaul territory.”

“He is a Celt,” Solon explained.

“Mother did not call us that. She called us Dobunni. Our Magna Mater is Cuda.”

“And Elill’s is Ishtar,” Duro guessed. There was an accent to his voice, similar to Ashur’s. A Syrian then, one he could trust it seemed. 

Solon nodded. “Similar but not exactly alike. It helps when we worship to think of the names we can recall and the rites we remember. It makes it feel more real than a farce. I do believe our prayers help; look at your healing, though I don’t think everything we do is right in the name of the gods.”

In Duro’s experience that could be said for all things. He spent what felt like the rest of the day talking to Solon and Iodocus as they both checked his wound and helped him to stand. He couldn’t quite walk yet and felt embarrassed over the fact he’d pissed himself more than once, but Solon assured him they’d seen worse. They often took care of the ill relatives of those devotees who gave great donations. 

The next week followed that same pattern. Duro would awake to find Elill already gone for the day and a combination of Oenomaus and various Galli in the room watching over him. Iodocus and Solon were forthcoming with some information but Elill still remained largely a mystery to Duro. Whenever they spoke it was about Duro’s healing. He was often too exhausted from a day of attempting to sit upright to stay awake for long once Elill returned from his duties. Tonight, though, he was determined to have answers. 

“You are a eunuch,” Duro said when Elill entered the room. 

Elill undid his long braid “No, this temple is more Greek than Roman. I am of the Corybantes.”

“The what?”

Elill shook out his hair and began to remove the gold and silver hoops that alternated in a line up his ears. “I dance, and drum in worship,” he explained. He set the hoops down and started to remove his rings and bangles. “We are Galli and we are not. The Galli physically castrate themselves in this temple. The Corybantes, we use symbolic sacrifice or are already counted among the impotent.”

“You cannot produce children.”

“I’ve never had the desire to try,” Elill teased. “A fitting thing, seeing as where my own tastes lie.”

It was an obvious distraction ploy. Duro refused to fall for it even if he wanted to know more. There would be other times for that discussion. 

“What’s the real difference in your titles? I have seen many Galli. They are slim, still toned, but are chosen because they look like both of man and woman. You are not so; your shoulders are too broad and you walk around here more bare than covered in robes like Solon.”

“Oenomaus clearly lied; you are an observant one.” Elill pulled off his emerald robes leaving just the soft, red shorts underneath. He took his normal seat at Duro’s bedside. He grabbed a clean cloth, dipped it in the water bowl, and started to clean Duro’s face. “Corybantes can bear arms in the temple and therefore the head priests don’t need to pay for and house hired guards.”

Duro closed his eyes at the soothing and familiar feeling of being washed. The water was always scented with lavender. “No one would suspect you of being so deadly. Your eyes, they glow like gold.”

Elill laughed. “Your tongue appears in working order, though perhaps not your mind.”

“My brother would tell you that is not an effect from the fever at all.”

“So Oenomaus warned me.”

“Where is that old goat?” He never appeared at night and Duro wondered where he went. 

Elill sighed. “Walking the streets, risking discovery. I think he prays to the gods for punishment. I have urged him to hide here but there is no convincing Oenomaus to do anything. I’d rather not waste my breath.” He removed the cloth and rested a hand in Duro’s hair. “Did you make attempt to walk today?”

“I successfully stood and walked while leaning on Solon for a whole half-an-hour. We even tried walking to the end of the corridor.”

“The wound did not re-open.”

“Those boys would’ve told you if it did.”

“Hmm,” Elill said. He pushed the furs off Duro’s chest and slowly unwrapped the bandages around his abdomen. He lightly pressed around the wound, only letting up when Duro couldn’t hold back the hiss of pain.

“Not completely healed then, not yet. It is a deep wound, it will take some time.” Elill looked down at him. “I hope you realize just how much your gods favor you. Every other time I have seen this wound it has resulted in death. You were left unattended, bleeding out from a stab wound in the side for hours. Your brother removed the sword, possibly causing more damage on the exit than the entry. How you are still here with nothing but a soreness from the surgeon’s working and a fever, I do not know.”

“I am a stubborn shit who does not give life up that easily.”

“I would not be so flippant if it was my life the gods saw fit to spare.”

“How else can I be?” Duro asked. “I am not blessed; I am not special; there are others long dead more worthy of life than I. I do not think the gods, any gods, yours, mine, or the Roman shits, seek to favor a fucking goat herder of the Thervingi.”

“I should not keep beseeching the gods for you in my daily prayers, then?”

“No one asked you to pray for me.”

“Oenomaus did.”

“No one except a man who has misplaced guilt and responsibility for my well-being.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, his voice dropping lower in register. Elill looked at him like a very bored mountain lion looked at its next meal. “I have a feeling you’d beg for my prayers if you saw how I worship.” He patted Duro’s head again and grimaced. “We will need to do something about your body soon. Perhaps attempt a true bath tomorrow.”

“Are you implying I smell?”

“Smell is too mild a word. You reek, Duro. I do not think my room will ever be the pleasant haven it once was again.”

Duro laughed and this time his chest burned for a completely different reason. 

 

*********************

 

Each day Duro’s strength returned and each night brought more revelations. He was interested in hearing Elill’s tale, how he came from Syria with his friend, Adad. Elill intrigued him, so different from Ashur and the other Galli and Corybantes. He was already a teenager, well-versed in the myths and traditions of his own land, when brought here. He was proud of his homeland and never tried to conceal his origins or his feelings towards the Romans. Solon claimed he could get away with it because Elill was one of the elders in the temple. Few of the Corybantes lasted as long as he did and that made him almost feared by the head-priests that seemed to change with each new festival. 

He was also a creature of grace and Duro would not deny how it distracted him. Elill’s hair was long and well groomed. He was not as effeminate as the Galli, his jaw far too strong and his ceremonial clothing reminiscent of armor. His form and manner spoke of masculinity, even when he painted his face and donned the bright colors Duro only saw on the noble women. He was handsome, Duro could recognize the beauty in him, but there was deadliness to Elill. Duro had no doubt he could, and had, taken a life. The Galli and the Corybantes protected themselves since no others would. They knew how to use influence and reputation to keep the Romans silenced. 

“I should’ve been a Galli,” Elill confessed that night. “Back home, before I was taken, I was already promised to Ishtar. When we came here, me and Adad, the head-priest decided to give us to the Corybantes. They revived the tradition here to gain more coin during the _rituals_.” 

“Rituals?”

Elill tapped Duro’s forehead. “Think, German. This is a temple to Cybele, the Great Mother. We practice sacred prostitution here.”

Duro knew little of their worship before being enslaved in Rome. He understood more now but still was confused on just how Elill came to be acquainted with Doctore. He was certain none of their rituals ever occurred in the ludus.”

“How did Doctore come to know you?”

“His wife, Melitta.”

Duro gaped. “His wife?”

Elill nodded. “She died years ago. Horrible scene I heard. She choked to death on her own blood thanks to wine laced with poison. She was,” Elill paused and turned to study the oil lamp’s flame, “she was beautiful.”

“I did not think Doctore had such a life,” Duro admitted. 

Elill smiled. “He was not always Doctore. He was not always Oenomaus. It’s time you met the man behind the titles. He is a great one, though lost now without purpose.”

“Aren’t we all,” Duro muttered.

Elill squeezed his shoulder. “We will get you fighting again, Duro.”

“It is not the fight I care for. I only wish to find Agron.”

“You think he still lives.”

“I can feel it.”

“He thought you dead.”

“If the situations were reversed, I would have though the same.” Duro wrinkled his nose. “Now, though, can we attempt that bath? No one else around to see if I stumble horribly or have to crawl back to this bed.”

“I’d carry you first. I didn’t waste all those hours nursing you and having to perform a private session for the surgeon in order for you to rip open that wound again.”

“You did what,” Duro hissed.

“Calm yourself,” Elill ordered. “I have done much more more for less worthy causes than saving another’s life. Do not worry yourself. The surgeon doesn’t touch; he only likes to watch.”

“You are okay with this?”

“It is amazing, is it not, the things you will become _okay_ with when you have no other choice? We all must survive in this world. I already am forced to prostitute myself in the name of Cybele and Rome’s honor. I might as well make it worth my own while. Even if a devotee tries to buy my freedom I cannot be considered a citizen of Rome.” Elill pulled his hair up and piled it on his head. “Enough talk; let us get you to the bathing chamber.”

It wasn’t a long walk but even with Elill supporting most of Duro’s weight, he was short of breath by the time they reached the chamber. It was a natural pool here, below the temple and underground. The water was warm, even if the smell left something to be desired. 

“It still smells better than you,” Elill said when he saw Duro’s face. 

He stripped Duro of his borrowed clothes and then carefully lowered him to the stone steps. 

“I trust you to stay afloat while I gather some oils and cloths,” Elill said.

“It would be useless to die now,” Duro agreed. 

Duro was rarely alone. There was always someone to watch over him, to make sure he was healing, to bring him, broth, water, or watered-down wine. He wasn’t used to being alone with his thoughts. Privacy and solitude were never common, even back home. Now he didn’t want to think. There were too many complications, implications, and consequences. What was Agron doing while Duro sat in this bubbling, hot water, wounded and weak? What of Spartacus? Of Varro’s wife, Aurelia? What of Lydon who had a song for every occasion? Of Fortis who could tell humorous tale until tears streamed with laughter? Where were they all while he sat here in a pampered luxury, too weak to even dress himself.

“Turn mind from such thoughts,” Elill ordered as he sat beside Duro.

“How do you know what I think?”

“It does not take a Seer to discern the troubles weighing you down. You did not ask to be wounded. You should bear no guilt towards your own recovery.”

“When trusted friends are dying and I spend my days lying in bed staring at your fanciful ceiling?”

“That ceiling tells the history of my homeland, it is not fanciful,” Elill said. “Your wound, in the rare even it is not fatal, can take up to a year to fully heal.”

“I do not have a year,” Duro protested. 

“I am aware,” Elill said. He brought a caked bar of what looked to be soap out from under the towels. “That is why you must rest so you can heal as quickly as possible.”

“What is that,” Duro asked, gesturing to the bar. He’d never seen soap used by the Romans or in the ludus. 

“Um, soap. We import it from the East. The Romans don’t like to use it for personal bathing but I find it the best thing when washing off the grime associated with a lengthy bed-stay.”

“We used such in Germania. Made of animal fat and ashes. It kept our hair clean. Mother always insisted on clean hair.”

Elill eyes went to the matted braids on Duro’s head. 

“They must be cut,” Duro guessed.

“I have smelled the mold in them for days,” Elill admitted.

“Long hair is a sign of dignity and honor among my clan.”

“When you return to them it will be with clean, long locks. Not these which show the treatment of your captivity. Your hair is not healthy, Duro, you will only feel better with them gone.”

“Do you have a dagger here?”

“I always keep one around me,” Elill said. He showed a small, bejeweled dagger. It looked more ornamental than sharp, almost like Elill himself. 

Duro closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t know if the shaking in his hands and his stuttering pulse were from the exertion or the anxiety. Either way he had to grasp to the threads of this new life now. 

“Do it,” he whispered, voice barely carrying above that of the water. 

Elill said nothing as he carefully gripped Duro’s hair and cut the strands. He remained silent even in the face of the tears Duro knew streamed down his face. He hummed though, that same familiar song from the first night they met. 

Duro kept his eyes closed and simply willed his body to heal. 

He needed to find Agron and he would. Soon.


	3. Two

His skin was burning when he greeted the dawn. Duro tried to throw the furs off his body but his arms wouldn’t work. 

“It is the fever,” Elill said. He dabbed at Duro’s forehead with his ever present cloth. “You must fight it, my friend. I would see another morn with you.”

Duro coughed. “I thought we were done with this.”

“The trip to the bath might have been overly ambitious.”

“Worth it,” Duro said.

“My nose certainly agrees.”

“I was healing.”

“You still are,” Elill said. “Miracles only go so far. Your body must fight off any lingering infections.”

“I am blaming your surgeon friend for this.”

“And not the sand surely sopping with blood, piss, and shit that you laid in for hours. Of course, it was the surgeon who caused the most damage.”

“I do not think you are supposed to taunt those about to greet Death.”

“I think Death quite enjoys a sense of humor,” Elill said. He curled a hand in Duro’s newly shorn hair. “Either way, you are still capable of speech and this is far from your worst fever.”

“Yes, but I don’t recall the others.”

“You do not suffer quietly, I see.”

Elill pulled the furs off and replaced them with a much cooler thin blanket. “That will let some air on your skin. I still won’t have you bare. It’s too cool down here for such things even if the Spring is upon us.”

There was a commotion at the door and Solon came barreling in, half-dressed with two unknown strangers. 

“There was an attack on a whorehouse,” he explained. “We have guests seeking our aid.” 

“Which brothel?” Elill asked. 

“Arminius,” one of the strangers said, voice shaking in worry. “A whole group of them came in and slaughtered us.” 

“Do you know why?” Elill asked. He moved to block Duro from the others’ view. 

“It was Spartacus and his band of treacherous fucks. They were looking for a man named Trebius,” the other stranger said. 

“The one who sells slaves?” Elill asked. 

Duro pressed a hand to the back of Elill’s hip. He knew that name, heard it spoken as they were transferred from the port at Neapolis and brought to Capua. That was the fucker who sold him and Agron. 

“Clarissa said they were looking for information on a slave girl. The one the lanista sent away in shame.”

“Why would they bring down a whole brothel for one girl? Why kill whores?”

“They did not attack the whores, mostly. They attacked the patrons and those who met them in arms.”

“Collateral damage,” Solon explained. “You know how it goes when wars are started. Innocents always fall in between.”

Duro watched as Elill straightened his shoulders and spoke with the authority of one used to command. “Tell the healers I will be up to assist soon. Wake Iodocus and he will find enough linens to make beds for a guests. They deserve a lie-in after a night of terror. Do not let any try and offer to join the priesthood tonight. _If_ they insist remind them that the induction ceremony will not occur for another year. Keep all unknown faces far from the living quarters.”

“Should I wake Iason?” Solon asked. 

“Seeing as Iason claims to be our head-priest it would be the proper thing to do.”

Solon nodded and showed the strangers the way out. Elill’s back was tense and he did not turn to meet the questioning tug of Duro’s hand until the sound of footsteps faded. 

Duro held back his cough until Elill turned to meet his eyes.

Elill stood and walked over to the table which held clay bottles of wine and water. He proud a glass of each and handed the water to Duro.

“Your friends are causing a lot of damage in their quest for vengeance,” he admonished. 

“Crixus,” Duro explained. “Oenomaus said he yet lived. He was in love with Naevia. She was beaten and shorn of her hair by Batiatus wife for daring to love the same man as her domina. Crixus would burn down all of Rome for her. One brothel would be nothing to him if he has a lead on where she’s gone.”

“My association with you will get me killed,” Elill said.

Duro tried to nod but his head ached too much from the movement. “I do not disagree,” he grunted out. 

“He finally shows some sense,” Oenomaus said. He was covered in a cloak and looked highly displeased. Duro wouldn’t be surprised if he was missing his old whip.

“There is dried blood on your hands,” Elill said. 

“It is no worry.”

“We have guests inside this house, ones I do not know besides two of the local whores. It _is_ a worry. Go clean yourself in the baths and then come back here and watch over Duro. I must attend to all our refugees from Arimnius’ brothel.”

Elill didn’t storm out of the room but the irritated set of his shoulders was enough to keep both Oenomaus and Duro from arguing.

“I know the reason for his wrath concerning my actions but what of yours?” Oenomaus asked.

“Wrath by association,” Duro said. He studied his former Doctore. “You knew my brother was still in the city?”

“I knew the Rebels were hiding here. I do not think, after tonight’s events, they will stay.”

“In all the time of my recovery you failed to mention that knowledge.”

“Duro, you are ill, you are healing, and you were given a second chance at life. I would not see you waste it to follow after your brother in a cause which will bring both of you to ruin.”

“Since when are my brother or I _your_ concern?”

“Combined, you both remind me of a very old friend. He did not fight our situation in life like you and your brother do, though I suspect had he spent his formative years free that would’ve been a different matter.”

“Appeasing old ghosts then,” Duro said. 

A flicker of a smile crossed Oenomaus’ face and Duro swore he was seeing things from the fever.

“Rest, Duro, while you still have the time.”

“I do not follow your commands any more, old man,” Duro muttered even though he felt the familiar tug of sleep. 

“I fail to recall when you ever did.” 

 

********************

Duro’s vision was only slightly hazy when he awoke again. Elill was there donning his official garments. They were all bright colors and contoured closed to his body. 

“What’s the occasion,” Duro rasped. 

“Water,” Elill said, pointing to the bedside table.

Duro forced himself up and was thankful he had the strength to lean. The skin still pulled tight on his incision scar; it was a bearable pain at least. 

“Some pompous Roman official is holding a meeting in the city square,” Elill said. “Something to do with the massacres at the ludus and the brothel. Solon and I must attend as representatives of the Great Mother. Can I trust you not to give Iodocus trouble?”

“I promise not to run away under the watch of a ten-year-old.”

“He is eleven.”

“And in my current state would have no trouble catching me. I can’t even take a piss on my own, Elill. I’m not going to fight with a child to be free.”

“Even though your brother might still dwell within the city walls?”

Duro refused to answer. He slowly sipped his water instead. 

“Right,” Elill muttered. He pulled out a brush and began to trace, thick, black lines around his eyes. 

“You really have to go out there in full regalia?”

“It would be an insult to our honored guest if I did not,” Elill grumbled. “If it was up to me all who sought our blessings would have to come here and pay respects not the other way around. We are not Roman citizens even if their tax money goes to support us. I fail to see why I should grovel at their feet when they’ve forced me into service.” 

“You do not disagree with Spartacus’ message then?”

“I think all should be free. I just do not know if it coming at the end of a blade is proper. Solon is correct; more innocents will die and fall in the crossfire between Spartacus and Rome. Who will avenge their deaths? The injustices placed upon them? No one wins at war even if the motivations are just.” 

Elill turned to face him as he donned his bangles and necklaces. Even with the paint on his face and the sweet perfume seeping from his hair, he was still undeniably Elill. Solon could easily pass for someone else, man or woman, a power and a mystique of being indistinguishable. Elill could not hide himself in the same way. 

“Iodocus wishes to teach you the songs of his homeland today. Please indulge him. Your stay with us is the first in a long while he’s had the chance to be young.”

“What did he do before?”

Elill’s jaw visibly clenched. “It is better if you didn’t know. Suffice to say I’d rather he witness your failed attempts to make it to the bathing chamber and back than the full rituals they would force upon him too soon. He is young and deserves a choice.”

“You willingly served Ishtar in the same capacity and yet you speak of your time here with nothing but resentment.”

“I believe in Ishtar,” Elill said. “I have never believed in Rome.” 

Duro did not have a response to that; to a whole life he couldn’t imagine. He never observed the rituals or cared much for his own gods. 

“Be safe out there,” he said.

Elill smirked. “Be safe in here,” he answered. 

It was just after the small mid-day meal when Elill stormed into the room. Iodocus quickly put away the board game he was easily besting Duro at and crawled beside him on the bed. They both followed Elill’s movements as he dropped his cloak and paced in a clearly agitated manner. The curses spilling from his mouth were truly impressive. Even Agron hadn’t used some of those vulgar combinations before. 

“Does he do this often?” Duro asked.

Iodocus shook his head. “Not unless we’ve been cheated on the price of grain by some merchant.”

Duro raised his voice and asked, “I take it things did not go well in the city?”

Iodocus stared at him and shock. Duro shrugged until he met the truly murderous gaze of Elill. He did not think it a weakness to involuntarily shrink back into the pillows. It was a survival instinct, pure and simple.

“No, it did _not_ go well,” Elill hissed. “The fucking praetor is here thanks to to your friends. Do you know what they decided to do to show fucking example?”

“My friends or the praetor?” Duro asked.

“The fucking praetor,” Elill said. “They brought a beaten and broken women into the streets and used her as fucking example to all. They carved _fugitivus_ into her forehead and left her there to be mocked as she died. An utter and complete desecration of a person’s final hours and for what? To put fear into an already terrified people. And then your _friends_ appeared and,” he stopped. Elill clenched his fists and took a deep, steadying breath. “I fear the consequences of what is to come.” 

“Elill,” Duro wrapped his fingers around his wrist as he passed. “Calm down. Sit. Explain.”

“The Praetor, Glaber, he seems to have a personal vendetta with your friend, Spartacus.”

“Mutual personal vendettas and hatred, yes.” 

“Glaber’s men captured a party of Spartacus’ men headed towards the mountains. They kept one alive, a young woman. Clearly tortured and beaten.”

“What did she look like?”

“I do not know, Duro. She was small, and bloody, and utterly broken. Glaber was in a moment of triumph when Spartacus and his men attacked from the crowd. Did you know your former domina survived? It seems you were not the only one to be blessed by the gods.” He shook his head. “Apologies, I was not expecting to witness such a thing today. It brought back memories I thought long-since buried.”

“Come,” Duro said as he tugged him down, “sit on the bed of healing.”

Duro patted Elill’s back as he finally gave in. He wasn’t good at offering comfort to people who weren’t Agron; even then it was usually solved with a punch to the shoulder followed by a quick hug. 

Elill leaned over him and studied Iodocus. “Was the barbarian well behaved for you?”

Iodocus shrugged. “Decent.”

“Traitor,” Duro muttered. 

“He wouldn’t eat his broth,” Iodocus said. “Though he took the bread.”

“I am tired of broth,” Duro complained. “I think I have earned the right to real food.”

“So says the one who vomits and leaves us all to clean up the mess,” Iodocus teased. 

“You would condemn a man for something he has no control over,” Duro said. “Vipers, the lot of you.”

“What is that?” Iodocus asked. He pointed to where Elill’s fist was still clenched. 

Elill looked down and smiled. “There was a man there, among the Rebels. He was tall and spoke words in the tongue Duro calls out in his sleep. He bumped into me when he ran into the fight.” Elill opened his hand and showed a lump of metal with threads of a raggedy red fabric hanging off it. “I grabbed the pouch from his waistband because someone so rude deserves to have their coin stolen. I found this inside.” He raised his head and met Duro’s eyes. “Oenomaus said you were without your earring when he found you.” 

“Did you give his pouch back?” Iodocus asked. 

Elill nodded. “I slipped it back on when he nearly trampled me as he left with the girl. They called out his name. Agron, as I heard it.”

Duro took it from Elill’s hands and trailed his fingers over the strands. They were finally starting to fade to pink after all this time. 

“Gerlind’s dress,” he said. “She hid with us in the barn when the village was invaded. We hid her in the hay until they came close. My knife got tangled in her dress when we had to leave. Agron and I, we led the attackers away from the village. Gerlind wanted to come with us but I made her promise to stay hidden until Uncle came for her.” The fabric no longer carried her scent; it was just a scrap of cloth full of memory. “I wonder if anyone ever found her.” 

The room was silent though Duro’s mind was full of the past. Elill and Iodocus were two sources of comforting heat, letting him have all the time he needed. 

 

**********************

The unexpected emotional toll of the day made Duro sleep before the sun was down. Elill must’ve said something since no one dared to enter the room, not even Solon. Hushed voices in an argument invaded his dreams and finally brought him back to the world, though he burned with fever again.

Oenomaus was in the doorway with Elill in the room. Both were hidden in shadows and it was clearly not a friendly argument. 

“Oenomaus, you do not have to do this. Stay here. Serve the goddess if you seek a return to honor. Do not descend into that portal of the worst depths of the Underworld. It is not meant for a man such as you.”

“I am nothing better than a beast. It is where I began and it is where I shall make my end.”

“Oenomaus,” Elill pleaded. 

“No words can sway me on this, Elill, not even yours.”

Duro tried to make his own concerns heard; his strength was gone again. 

Most of Duro’s hours passed in a haze. The wound was slow-healing. Each day it felt as if he battled another fever, the only anchor to this world was his pain and the cool touch of Elill’s hands. 

He had grown used to the visions of horrible and nonsensical things. Still the haze had never brought this, Elill propped next to his bed, hair unbound and furiously writing on scraps of paper.

“If this is your goddess’ idea of eternal punishment, then she leaves me confused.”

“She is a goddess of healing, rebirth, and immortality, Duro. She would not see you to an afterlife so mundane.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Spending eternity on a goat farm sounds like joy to me.”

Elill laughed. “All the wishes for eternal bliss and you pick a goat farm.”

“It is a satisfying life. Or Afterlife.”

Elill’s eyes widened as if Duro was a particularly interesting bug. 

“Duro, you are truly a gift. You seek not fame or riches. You only wish to return to the life you once had.”

“It was a good life. I enjoyed it before the battles.” It took an effort to raise his hand, but he was determined. He pointed at Elill’s work. “What do you write? I did not know you could.”

“More than one of the Galli were teachers before seeking or being forced into service. They taught me.” He shuffled his pile. “I write letters seeking the former Champion of Capua, hoping he will return and save Oenomaus from his honor.” Elill’s expression soured at those last words.

“I doubt Crixus will answer such a summons.”

Elill laughed, the skin around his eyes crinkling under the dark kohl lines. “Not the Gaul. I seek Gannicus, of course.”

“Who?”

“Gannicus,” Elill repeated.

“Never heard of him.”

“Never—you come from the House of Batiatus.”

“Yes.”

“You understand the Common Tongue.”

“Quite well.”

“You do not know of Gannicus.”

“No. Barca, Crixus, Oenomaus himself. A few other scattered names of former heroes. I recall tales of an Auctus and a Dagan. Never a Gannicus.”

“He is the only gladiator of Capua to ever earn his freedom from the Arena. He won it at the opening match. He is a legend; some even seek to call him a god.”

“Then that god needs a better reputation. I never heard such a name uttered in the ludus.” Duro wrinkled his nose. He needed to attempt the bathing chamber again. “How do you plan on finding this man anyway?”

“I’m sending missives to all the taverns and brothels in the area. One way to find Gannicus is follow the wine and the whores.”

Duro scoffed. “You think such a man can sway Oenomaus? Have you met him?”

“As I have told you before. He was not always your Doctore. There was a time when he laughed more. His worries and cares have always been deep. Gannicus brought out a lighter part of him. I can’t imagine what it cost him; to lose Melitta and Gannicus so soon after each other. “

“Well,” Duro said as he sat up, “once you are done I suggest another attempt at the bathing chamber.”

“As long as you swear not to pass out again.”

“I will make no such vow unless you want more lies in your life.”

He ducked as Elill swatted at him. Duro would rather wake up to feeling like this for the rest of his healing period. It sure as fuck beat all the fever dreams.


	4. Three

Duro was making slow progress. He could walk small distances unaided and the fevers were mostly a thing of the past. He still spent the late afternoons exhausted. Iodocus was quite the small taskmaster as he made sure all of Duro’s limbs were stretched and exercised. His body was still healing but his confinement was causing him to lose all his good sense. Duro was accustomed to working and now that he spent more days awake than in a fever, he was chaffing from lack of action. It was one thing to do nothing by choice and quite another by circumstance.

“Someone has a Fury molting inside him,” Elill said after one of Duro’s particularly long tirades.

“What?”

“The Furies or Erinyes or Dirae depending on your audience. Goddesses of Vengeance and a frightening sight to behold. Your temperament reminds me more of them each day.”

“Does Ishtar not have her own such companions?”

Elill was clearly amused by Duro’s tone. He patted his cheek as he walked passed. 

“One could argue Ishtar herself has enough vengeance. She is a goddess of war in her own right and let us just say her lovers never fared well.”

Duro scoffed. “And this is the goddess your people pray to for love and fertility?”

“We must appease her. Someone is bound to succeed where she fails.”

“Such blasphemy for a priest.”

“We are some of the worst,” Elill agreed. He dabbed a foul-smelling ointment on Duro’s wound. “How does it feel?”

“Itches worse than the sand that constantly filled my ass.”

Elill dropped his head. “Your gift with words make the poets weep, Duro.”

“My skills are many and envious,” Duro agreed. He tugged on a strand of Elill’s loose hair, fingering the line of wooden beads woven therein. “Can I not attempt the market? No one will recognize me. I had few fights in the arena and of those my brother drew the crowd’s focus.”

Elill angled his head in a way that Duro knew meant _no_. 

“I am not a fucking babe to be worried about constantly,” Duro grumbled.

“Yet your very presence brings a risk I do not think you can comprehend. If you are found here, is it not just you who will see death in the arena or even crucifixion. It will be me, Solon, Iodocus, and all who gave you shelter. I will not keep you here if you truly wish to leave, Duro. We do not keep prisoners. My concern is only that a walk up to the main floor of the temple is still beyond you. I worry what will happen if your wound overcomes you and you collapse in the market square. They will see the brand on your arm if they look for marks and know what house you come from. There will be a raid on any site full of non-Romans.”

“They would target a temple?”

“We are not citizens of Rome, Duro. Like all slaves we are mere objects in their eyes; a means to an end.”

Elill wiped his hands off on a cloth before gently prying his hair from Duro’s hand. “I do go to market to seek news of Oenomaus. If you are very good I shall bring you back a treat.”

“You would bribe me like you do Iodocus?”

“Of the two he is the one acting like a grown man this morn.”

The only proper response to that involved Duro sticking out his tongue and proving himself even more of a child. Instead he shook his head and sat up to watch Elill make his preparations for going out in public. It was like watching someone put on a second skin. Elill had to project a certain image to the citizens when he dared to walk among them. The Corybantes were known for being half-wild, always brightly dressed and savagely beautiful. It wasn’t Elill’s job to beg for alms; that went to the lesser-Galli. He could still accept any donations passed into his hands or prayers to be transferred to the Galli and the Great Mother. 

No longer was he Duro’s Elill of late nights and exasperated smiles, of working out tangles in hair and stitching up tears in Iodocus’ clothes. This Elill was a performer. He painted dark lines around his eyes and added heavy perfume to his hair. His ears were weighed down in silver and gold. There were small bells on the bracelets and anklets he wore, forever reminding the public that Corybantes were dancers of the Great Mother’s song. The hairstyle was complicated with silver and bronze clasps that looked like twigs and leaves holding back the thick locks from his face. 

“You always get that sour look on your face when I go to perform my duties,” Elill said as he slipped on his sandals. 

“I suppose I prefer something more genuine.”

“I’m still me right now,” he said, gesturing to his outfit. “This is just one part of the whole.”

“I prefer the other part.”

“Art and beauty are lost on you, Barbarian.”

“The fuck they are. I can’t help it if what other sees as plain I find extraordinary.”

A look passed over Elill’s face, barely visible in the dark room.

“What is it?” Duro asked.

Elill turned to him, pausing before he left the room. “It is just, once you are healed. I will miss your company and your honesty.”

He slipped out of the room before Duro could respond. Not that he had anything to say; the possibility of ever leaving seemed unlikely with his wound. He knew he was making progress towards healing but he never really spared a thought that it also meant his departure. 

There was no place for Duro, not here in a temple with a goddess he didn’t believe in and practices he couldn’t support. It did not matter that he’d grown used to a routine, even one as boring as he had now. He had spent over two months with Elill, Solon, and Iodocus; he never quite believed there could be an end. 

 

*********************

 

The temple was losing its collective shit. Some of the prominent members of Capua society who still lived and breathed were attending for a memorial festival. Representatives of the Praetor Glaber’s army would be there as well. It had been a week of cleaning and decorating. Duro had never seen so many of the Galli and novices below the normal living quarters where Elill and the other Corybantes stayed. 

Their major celebration was always an outdoor procession in mid-April followed by a ceremony in the woods. It wasn’t often that the prominent citizens came to the temple in a large groups; the temple wasn’t for _their_ worship. Duro had come to understand it was different, quite unlike welcoming a group of soldiers in to give blessing. The temple was essentially hosting a party for possible future financial supporters. 

Each of the Galli and the Corybantes had their own way to stand out. Elill explained that sometimes it helped to have patrons. Jewels, coin, and other gifts could be given to a priest, novice, or dancer for their exclusive use and not that of the temple. It allowed them to accumulate their own wealth and leave if they ever desired. Not that many did, despite Elill and Solon, quite a few of the priests actually believed in their faith. Not all were here willingly though, and any hope or chance of leaving kept the peace. 

Duro wasn’t unused to nudity and he’d never been uncomfortable with the bare form. It was impossible, growing up with Agron and using the river and lakes to bathe. This was a different situation, seeing the preparations, witnessing the donning of the masks and persona, and it felt far more intimate than bare skin. His eyes traced the dark swirls Elill drew on his body. He’d spent all week decorating his skin, Solon sometimes stopping by to help, and tonight’s session saw him finishing the final swirls on his feet. 

Duro was fascinated by it all. He’d never seen a cosmetic used in such a way. A few warriors of his people sometimes painted their faces. Their clan had a long history of tattooing the shapes of the sacred animals and trees into their flesh. What Elill did was pure art and it covered every bare inch of skin except for the large eight-pointed star on the side of his left hip. A symbol of Ishtar, Elill explained, carried in his skin since his life before Capua. 

“You have watched me do this each night and yet never offered to help,” Elill said as he patted down the last swirls with a cloth soaked in lavender oil. 

“I do not have an artist’s hands. The only things I’ve ever helped make are swords and trouble.”

“Swords? That is not a common skill.”

“My uncle said I had a talent for it but my frame isn’t the best. It requires more steadiness and strength than I’ve ever had. I was much better than Agron at making daggers though. He never favored the forge. He always preferred the land instead.”

“Then you never tried you hand at something softer?”

Duro grimaced. “Mother tried to teach me weaving once. It did not go well. I can sew the tears on a cloak and that takes me to the very end of my skill.”

“We should seek an improvement then, if you are to go on in this world.”

“I would’ve learned more if time and circumstance was different.”

“It wasn’t and we can still teach you.” Elill stood and stretched his arms. 

Duro watched utterly captivated as the light played off the muscle and swirls. 

“Here,” Elill said. He grabbed Duro’s hand and placed it on a patch covering Elill’s side. “You’re allowed to touch.”

The swirls felt hard with the dried paste and it was raised off the skin. 

“I expected it to feel smooth.”

“Once I brush off the dried crust it will be. You’ve been asleep when I’ve fixed the other sections.” 

Elill showed the side of one arm where the lines were the color of rust. Duro tentatively traced a path and felt nothing but smooth skin. There was an earthy scent coming from the paste on Elill’s legs and feet. 

“It has a pleasant smell.” Duro continued to follow the line from arm to Elill’s shoulder, down past his chest and resting over his hip. “Does it itch? How long will it stay?”

“My skin has always carried the dye well. It will last more than a passing of the moon, growing lighter with each long scrub.”

“Does it bother you to wear it?”

“Never,” Elill said. “This is mine. I brought this from my home, as my mother brought it from hers when she moved to Damascus. I made it part of the ritual here. I wear this with pride.”

“It doesn’t seem right. All the preparation and ritual for what? You cannot tell me all that come tomorrow will be here with integrity and religious worship in their thoughts.”

“The dance and its meaning do not shame me. I have always seen it as an expression of life, of joy and a fleeting moment of freedom. Life and laughter are two things this city needs.”

“Even if those who watch tomorrow will condemn you for your dance?”

“I do not dance for them. Of course I feel anger for those who would take an act full of love and see it as sinister. It is frustrating when those who watch it take something full of reverence and turn it into something base. They do not watch for the sake of true devotion. They watch us with lust in their hearts and hands on their cocks. Months later they will make decree over how _we_ are the animalistic ones and yet they see the ritual as nothing more than a sexual act on display.” Elill laughed. “Though, as I said, it is not _all_ of them. Even those who don’t revere Cybele can appreciate the beauty of the human body in movement. It is for them I am able to perform and take pride in my work.”

“From what Solon says you have many followers.”

“I am very good at what I do.” Elill settled beside Duro in the bed. “You will be there tomorrow, hidden in the shadows with Iodocus.”

“Oh, I will?”

“I need your eyes in case Oenomaus appears. Or Gannicus.”

“Gannicus who I do not know?”

“You will know him. He attracts attention wherever he goes. It is the smile and the laugh.”

Duro smirked. “Is that a young boy’s crush I detect?”

“Hardly,” Elill scoffed. “I did set my eyes on one of Batiatus’ gladiators in my youth, though he never knew my name or face. Not that it would matter. I wouldn’t have been permitted a lover then anyway. Besides, he was deeply in love with his own gladiator.”

“Who do you speak of? I cannot recall any.”

“Auctus. He died long before your time in the ludus. Crixus was the one to kill him. As Oenomaus told me, Auctus was the first man Crixus ever killed.”

“And who was his lover?”

“Barca, the Beast of Carthage.”

“I know Barca by reputation only. He was killed by Batiatus.”

Elill made a distressed noise. “That house is cursed. If the gods are merciful it will crumble into dust.”

“Was it always so bad, I wonder? Oenomaus still feels loyalty to that family, in his soul. How could he if it was always rotten?”

“Sometimes sons attempt to be more than their fathers and care little of who and what they must destroy to get there,” Elill said. “They very structure of Rome breeds her own treachery. All must answer to some strange and powerful father-figure and if they don’t, the consequences make death look as a gift.”

Duro burrowed further into the bed clothes and relaxed into the familiar weight of Elill at his side. One more thing to worry about when he left. Never, in all his years, had Duro slept in a bed on his own. There was always someone else giving comfort and warmth. Having faced Death more than once this year, he could honestly say he feared solitude more. 

He wanted to ask Elill if he ever thought of leaving; if Iason and the other head priests would let him. Surely he’d have accumulated enough wealth to settle on his own. He could understand staying with the ties to Iodocus and Solon and little else to pull him away, but if offered the choice, would he go? 

“My attendance is mandatory tomorrow then,” he murmured into Elill’s arm.

Elill’s free hand combed through Duro’s hair. “It is. I will accept no excuses.”

“Even though I do not believe in the goddess?”

“I am sure you have your own mother-goddess you can call on. If nothing else you can thank her for us healing you.”

Duro couldn’t argue against such words. Even if he did not care much for Magna Mater, her attendants had become dear to him. 

 

*************************

The celebration at the temple was as boring as those Batiatus held. At least this time Duro wasn’t forced to stand as if a statue. He hid behind a column with Iodocus, eating stolen food and listening to conversation. 

There was still much talk of Spartacus and the rebellion. Most seemed insulted that slaves had the utter fucking gall to rise up against their masters. He wondered how long any of them would survive if captured and forced into slavery. Those of a rougher manner, obvious hired security whom Duro witnessed stealing a few baubles and lose jewels from the shrines, spoke of a dark demon fighting in the Pits.

“Oenomaus,” Iodocus whispered from his place next to Duro.

Duro nodded. “I could think of no other. Doctore always taught and fought in a way that left us amazed. I cannot imagine how he must fight now, completely unhinged and without any greater purpose than to seek his own death.”

“He has freedom, why would he do this to himself?”

“Because he thinks the only way to restore his honor is his death,” Duro said. 

He shook his head. Such a waste of life and skill. They all had to make their own peace. Duro understood that more than any other now, but Oenomaus’ actions spoke of nothing but obstinate stupidity. There was an irony there, Duro criticizing someone else for being a stubborn fool. His mother would laugh herself to tears if she could see him now. 

A round of bells and chimes sounded, signaling the start of the dance. Iodocus tugged Duro over to a better vantage point. 

A hush went through the crowd as the Corybantes took their place on the raised platform. They stood there, glistening under the oil lamps. Some carried the swirls like Elill, others painted in brighter colors and images. Every one of them was nude, save for their chosen jewelry. Those who stood in the back carried instruments, mostly flutes and drums. The dance begun, more of a choreographed fight, and Duro finally understood what Elill meant about those watching just to appreciate the human form. This was not about enticement, not this dance at least. It was simply bodies in motion, moving to music, increasing in a frenzied pace. 

“They do not do the ecstatic dances save for the rituals,” Iodocus explained. “That is why the hallucinogenic herbs aren’t in the air.” 

“So this is tame?”

“Very,” Iodocus said. 

“Will it still be enough to secure coin?”

Iodocus smirked. “Until I spoke were you not enchanted?”

“You are far too smart for your age,” Duro said as he playfully cuffed Iodocus on the ear. 

A round of applause sounded and then the musicians set up for their next act. This time the other Corybantes stood back. Elill and another stood in the center.

“That is Yima. He comes from the lands east of even Elill’s home. He is Elill’s best student.

“Why have I not met him before?”

“Yima is still a novice. He has not yet taken any vows to Cybele, neither for the Galli or Corybantes and often spends time in study. He has spent hours learning the movements to this song. This dance is one of balance.”

“Balance?”

“Watch.”

The music from the flutes was slow this time, haunting, where before it was fast and rhythmic. Yima and Elill were held close together. Hands and foreheads touching. It was intimate watching them breathe and then move as one. Hips still meeting as backs bowed and chest leaned back. It was balance, using each other to stay upright as they moved on the floor. Each movement was slow, deliberate, and showcased the play of muscle under skin. The whole crowd was enraptured, even the thieves, and Duro finally understood what Elill meant when he claimed to be very good at his job. Spartacus himself could dash through the room at that moment and all eyes would still be on the stage. 

“Don’t forget to breathe,” Iodocus teased.

Duro cuffed his other ear in response. 

Later that night was when all went to shit. Duro was sitting on the edge of the rock pool while Elill washed off the sweat and oil from the night. They were both laughing as Duro recounted some of the gossip he heard that night and the antics the guest got up to, including the thieves. 

“This grown man who has surely killed for lesser things looked ready to piss himself as Iodocus just stood there and asked him so kindly to please put the stolen jewels back because Solon favors rubies,” Duro said. 

Elill’s whole body shook with laughter before he dropped under the water to wet his hair. 

“You haven’t drowned him, have you?” Solon asked as he joined them.

Duro pointed to the pool. “He’s washing the stench out of his hair. Or at least replacing it with a more pleasant one.”

“You do not favor our perfumes?”

Duro scrunched his nose.

“Enough of an answer,” Solon said. 

“What brings you down here so late at night?” Elill asked when he reemerged. 

“I have sad news from one of those you paid to watch in the Pits.”

“Oenomaus,” Elill quietly asked.

Solon nodded. “He has not met his death though perhaps that would’ve been better news. There was an attack in the Pits. Many of the staff were killed but the interesting thing is that a fighter, one who matches Oenomaus description, was taken.”

“Taken?” Duro asked.

“Your brother and his friends, perhaps?” Solon asked.

“Spartacus once fought in the Pits. I cannot see him returning there. They would not attack the place without reason.”

“Is Oenomaus not reason enough?” Elill asked.

“They would not force him to join the cause. He is still Doctore to them, I know it.”

“Then who would take him?”

“The Praetor, perhaps if he knew he still lived. Oenomaus told me Ashur, that fucking snake, still breathes. He could’ve pulled himself out of whatever pile of shit he’s been under to cause trouble.”

“That is the Syrian you spoke of, yes. Ashur?” Elill asked. 

“Yes. I fear him more than that fucking Praetor, let it be known. Ashur holds nothing sacred, at least the Praetor can be held back by Rome.” 

Elill nodded. “We all find our ways to make it in this world. Honor is not always a part.”

“To say the fucking least,” Duro muttered.

“There is nothing more to be done this night,” Solon said. “I will see if a night of wine and whores loosened any tongues in the morning.”

“Gratitude,” Elill said.

Solon left them both with a silent nod. 

Elill sat beside Duro and started to dry his hair. The swirls of color were still on his skin just as dark as earlier. Duro didn’t know why he expected them to fade already. He pressed his hand to the pattern stopping right around Elill’s tattoo. They weren’t just swirls there but vines leading to leaves and a flower.

“That is a neat trick,” Duro said. “You hid a flower in here.”

Elill leaned his head against the wall and laughed. “I suspect if Gilgamesh had you at his side, he would’ve found the Flower of Youth and held on to it.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“Only of stories you have yet to learn.” 

“And will you teach me?”

Elill’s smile was almost shy. “If we find ourselves with the time, I will be happy to do so.”

 

***************************

Duro felt ridiculous wrapped up in a robe and cloak under the bright sun. It was requirement to venture out into the city center and past the temple walls. 

“Stop muttering,” Elill said. He lightly slapped the back of Duro’s head. “The people will think you mad. Do not draw any unwanted attention.”

“Does not wearing all these layers qualify as such?”

“It is not uncommon for those acting as novice to our priesthood to cover themselves until they have taken vows. It is about metamorphosis.”

“So rather than think me lacking in sanity instead they will think I have no cock or balls. I am not sure which I prefer.”

“Keep speaking and I guarantee you will lack both by my own hand,” Elill hissed. 

Duro’s snide reply was stopped by Iodocus tugging on his arm. Elill’s temperament had gone sour over the past week. Lack of news on Oenomaus and a very long and loud disagreement with Iason left him as pleasant as a rampaging bull. Duro tried not to provoke him, a first in his life for avoiding conflict, but familiar behaviors were not so easy to break. Iodocus gladly volunteered for the position of helping Duro to keep his mouth shut. In times like these, Iodocus invoked the memory of Gerlind so much it stole breath. 

Still, it felt good to walk under the sun again even if it was stifling inside the cloak. He hadn’t been around this many people in so long. His timing and reactions were slow. The shouted phrases in Latin and the various dialects they heard as they passed through the market were too much to try and translate. He took to following the bodily cues of Elill and Iodocus and prayed he didn’t appear too much of an outsider. 

A procession of guards and carts had Duro dashing to hide in the shadow of the buildings.

“Who is that?” Duro asked. 

“Troops with prisoners. They head towards the ludus,” Iodocus said. 

Elill stepped forward and looked south and then north. “I feel an ill wind is stirring,” he said. He grasped Duro’s arm. “Come, I would have you hidden safely below the temple again.”

“Do you not think yourself a little paranoid? The guards are already headed towards the ludus, they will not turn back.”

“No, they will not. My concern is with that group coming from the north. They bear the mark of the Republic. It would do us well to be out of their sight.”

“Where are they headed?” Iodocus asked.

“My guess is the ludus to visit the Praetor. Rumor has it the games are to be held soon.”

“All the death this city has seen and they still thirst for the matches,” Duro said. 

“Perhaps they are not satisfied if the death is not seen by their eyes or by their choice.” Elill tightened his grip on the pouch holding their purchases. “Let us return.”

 

**************************

 

Duro sat against one of the pillars in the temples as he watched Elill attempt to teach Iodocus and another young novice a dance. Yima was with them looking much more welcoming than he had at the ceremony a week ago. Duro still had yet to speak to the man. Most of the attendants avoided him but he trusted Iodocus’ judgment on Yima. 

It was past midnight and they all should be in bed. The city was taken with excitement though and it was felt even in the temple. A large celebration took over the ludus tonight. The preparations meant coin flowed in massive waves through the market. It made all full of joy, eager to forget the fear and horrors of the past few months. Even more were excited for the coming games. 

Duro laughed as Iodocus maneuvered a quick flip and dodged Elill’s arms.

“ _That_ is not part of the dance,” he called. 

“A better addition,” Iodocus teased even as Elill finally grabbed him. “Is innovation not a part of art?”

Elill shook his head. “You are a very imp from the Underworld. Learn your steps properly.”

Solon appeared at the door with a dark look on his face. One of the whores from Arminius’ brothel stood at his side.

“Elill,” he called, “there is news. I would have you hear it.” He looked to Duro. “Bring your friend with you.”

Duro walked at Elill’s side as Solon lead them back into a private room and did not speak until the heavy curtain dropped behind him. Duro studied their guest. He didn’t look as terrified as the night of the brothel attack, but there was a distinct paleness in his face. The boy looked ready to vomit. 

“Duro, I shared with Nikias your story. We needed more eyes and ears to try and find Oenomaus and Nikias can be trusted.”

“How am I to know this?”

“Do you not trust me?” Solon asked.

“I don’t trust Elill some mornings,” Duro said.

Elill scoffed. “You attempt one simple piercing demonstration and you are condemned for life.”

“A little warning before shoving a needle through your own nipple isn’t uncalled for.”

“I had to reopen the closed holes,” Elill said.

Solon held up his hands. “A discussion you should have later. Nikias must return to his brothel before nightfall. His word is good, Duro, I swear.”

Duro nodded. “What news then?”

Solon gripped Nikias’ shoulder and urged him forward. “Nikias was one of the performers hired for the celebration tonight. He brings word of what he saw.”

“The captured men they brought into Capua earlier this week. They were with Spartacus when his rebels attacked the mines. Your friends are condemned to death in the arena,” Nikias said. 

Duro felt as if all the air left the room. Suddenly all he could hear was his own heartbeat and blood pounding in his veins. Elill had a tight hold on his arm, the only thing keeping Duro upright.

“Oenomaus stands with them. I was told the other three were gladiators. One was killed and partially skinned at the party for sport.”

“Do you know names,” Duro said. He pulled out of Elill’s hold and towered over Nikias “Do you recall any of the names or faces?”

“No names of worth. One was called the Undefeated Gaul and the other is a bald man. The one killed had long hair.”

“Did he speak German,” Duro demanded. 

Nikias shook his head. “I know not the language. He shouted vulgar insults in Latin before they cut out his tongue.”

“That could still be Agron,” Duro said. 

“Was the hair matted?” Elill asked.

“What?” Nikias asked. 

“The hair of the dead man. Was it in matted braids?”

“No, not in the least.”

Duro could feel his knees weaken and grasped for the wall to hold him steady. 

“I am sorry, Duro. Your friends will die in the arena as part of Virinius' games. They say Spartacus’ force is all but extinguished. The only need find him to end the matter,” Nikias said.

Duro grabbed Elill’s hand. “We must help them.”

“What would you have me do, Duro? I cannot break into that ludus nor can I bring the arena down. Save an act of the gods, there is nothing to be done.”

“Let me go then.”

“No,” Elill commanded. He shook his head, the glass and wooden beads in his hair clinking as he quickly forced his hand from Duro’s grip. “You _must_ gain strength. The wound is healed, let your body rest before you throw yourself at death again.”

“My friends are captured!”

“And being held in the ludus which is on top of a mountain currently occupied by a praetor and his troops. I can fight but I am not a true warrior, Duro, and you can barely walk down the street without needing to rest.”

“So we condemn them to death?”

“Oenomaus sought death the moment he returned to the Pits. As for the others, they knew well the cost they paid when they began the rebellion. If there was a chance, Duro, _any_ chance, I would help see it done.” Elill looked down at his hands. “Rest tonight. I will see about getting you safe passage out of Capua and on the road south in the morning.”

“Why do you say south?”

“The pulled your friends from the mines. That is south of Capua. Presumably what is left of the rebels will be in that area. It will take me some time to find a guide I deem worthy enough not to kill you in your sleep. You must, just give me a week, Duro, and I swear I will see you on the way back to your brother.”

Duro nodded in agreement though it still felt like all of this was a nightmare. He watched as Elill thanked Nikias for his information and sent both him and Solon away.

“How do we know his words are true? What if they are not spoken poison paid for by Roman shits?” Duro asked. 

“Nikias is Solon’s brother. One joined the priesthood, the other the brothel. They would not betray each other. Solon would not betray me therefore they will not betray you.”

“I do not think I can sleep this night knowing in days Oenomaus and Crixus will be dead on the sands.”

“Do you still feel as if Agron lives in this world?”

“I do.” It was a faint thrumming in the back of his mind, but it was there. 

“Then take comfort in that and sleep. You will need it for the journey ahead of you.”

Elill pressed a gentle kiss to Duro’s forehead. “Take all the time you need to compose yourself. If you wish to go straight to bed I shall make your excuses to the others.”

Duro watched Elill until the curtains blocked him from view. He wondered just how much it would take to convince Elill to come with him. A month ago it would be a dream but now, with Yima’s training and the disagreements with Iason, it was a possibility Duro would cling to. Elill deserved more than this life. Duro would see him free of all chains and Roman power. 

 

**************************

The temple was near empty on the day of the games. For those not at the arena, they were in the market trying to find a good deal or at one of the taverns for a decent drink. Even Elill had left the walls with a promise to Duro he’d return before dusk. 

Duro was tying up his own bandage when Elill arrived carrying a whole stack of supplies. He dropped a bag of coin and a sack of food and clothes next to Duro. A sheathed sword followed. 

“What is this?” he asked as he skimmed his hands over the pile. 

Elill pushed back his loose hair, absent any bead or clip and smiled. “I sold or traded every last earring, jewel, and bauble I had at the ready for these. Please do not die so quickly on the road. I quite liked some of the beads and bangles I gave up.”

No. This was, it was too much. Duro didn’t deserve a gift like this, not from Elill who had already spent months seeing him back to life. 

“Elill.”

“The Praetor and most of his troops are at the arena already. If there is chance to slip by with little notice or care, it will be today. Those not on duty will be half-drunk with joy over seeing fucking Gannicus on the sands again.”

“Still upset he didn’t answer your summons?”

“It’s the fucking least he could do.” Elill grabbed a tie from the side table and used it to secure his hair. “A cart taking travelers to Neapolis will leave right before nightfall. Your passage has been paid for the journey. Once you get to the port, you must make your own decisions of where to go next.”

There was no way to properly thank for this, not any gift or repayment Duro could afford, except one. 

“Elill,” he said again. 

Elill sat down beside him and patted his hand. “Please try and use sense, Duro. I really would hate to mourn you so soon after meeting you.”

He grabbed his hand. “Elill, come with me.”

Elill’s expression crumpled for just a moment and in that second Duro knew hope. It didn’t last, not as Elill straightened his shoulders.

“I cannot.”

“What holds you here? Why could you possibly want to stay?”

“Brotherhood,” Elill said. “I have lifelong ties with this temple. Surely something you can understand.”

Duro could but it didn’t make him regret this parting any less. Elill, like them all, deserved freedom. 

“Will you not consider it?”

Elill’s laugh was desperate. “What would I do with a bunch of rebels, Duro? I have led a religious life since birth. I was born in a temple and I am certain I will die in one. There is no cause for ritualistic ceremony among your friends. I do not think I would be welcomed, either as a Syrian or one of the Corybantes.”

“What will you do here? You are training Yima to take your place, aren’t you? You fought with Iason over Iodocus’ future. Do not think we failed to hear the words that passed through the walls. We can leave, we can take Iodocus and Solon, even Nikias if he wishes, and we can be free.”

“A fantastical vision of a hopeful imagination,” Elill said. “It is not something that could come to pass in this life.”

Duro was not a self-less man, neither was his brother. They did not give ground when they should and they did not give in if their heart was in the fight. For all the times Duro let Crixus kick him to the dirt, for all the times he never fought back, it had little to do with lack of determination and more with lack of desire. He thought it foolish, still did, to fight to the death for sport. It made a mockery of war and Duro spent many hours laughing at the absurdity of it all. 

His better sense told him it would be pointless to push Elill on this matter but Duro was selfish. He knew not what lay between them. Gratitude and shared company, friendship of a sort, maybe more if time and circumstance allowed it. He did not believe in fate, saw little by the way of prophecy, he just knew that he could not leave this place without Elill. He was not above simple manipulation to get what he wanted. 

Duro rested his chin on Elill’s shoulder. He quietly asked, “What if my wound re-opens on the road? What if I do not understand the words coming out of a stranger’s mouth? What if my fever starts again?”

“Duro,” Elill pleaded, “please, do not do this.”

“You said it yourself, that I am barely strong enough to walk the streets on my own. Would you not miss me if I was out of your sight? Would you not worry more each new dawn if I still survived? If you come with me you will always know. If you come with me, Iodocus will not be condemned to this life. I know you want him free. I know you have already tried sending him away. He told me, not that he understood why you left him in a harbor or on a cart headed towards the ports.”

“Fuck,” Elill cursed into Duro’s hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. You fucking manipulative, treacherous, fucking barbarian of a German.”

Duro had never felt triumph like he did in that moment. Agron could keep his fucking gladiatorial wins. Duro would take this instead. 

He pulled back and studied Elill’s face watching as uncertainty and hope passed through his eyes. They all dreamed of freedom even if it was terrifying. 

“We should see you to packing; Iodocus as well.”

“I have not said I will go,” Elill protested.

Duro grinned. “You have, we both know it. This battle is lost, Elill. Perhaps you will win the next one.” 

“It may be difficult to secure passage for two more.”

“Unlikely. Most will be drunk off wine or bloodlust or both this night. If we cannot take the cart than we shall walk.”

“You will run,” Solon said. 

Duro whirled around surprised at his appearance. “You can come with us.”

“I can’t, not tonight. Not ever. You know not what has happened.”

“What do you speak of?” Elill asked. He walked over to Solon and grasped his face. “What has you so frightened?”

“The arena is burned to the ground,” Solon said.

“What?”

“The arena. The Rebels burned it to the ground. Hundreds lie dead, if not thousands. It is fallen, the whole arena, destroyed.” Solon stepped out of Elill’s hold. “You should go, now. With the chaos and all those bodies, you will not be missed. The current magistrate is too new to know you never favored the games.”

“Solon.”

“Go,” Solon urged. He pushed Elill to his clothes chest. “Pack all you hold dear and can carry. I have already ordered Iodocus to do the same. Go and live for us, Elill.”

Elill shook his head. “I will never be able to return.”

“No, you will not. Yet in your passing you will perhaps give opportunity to another’s life. They will need a new Corybante.”

And not another Galli. Duro understood the significance there. In this temple the Galli underwent true castration; for the Corybantes it was symbolic. If a Corybante gained freedom they could go somewhere else in Rome and still be counted as man. A Galli could not do that, forever marked a eunuch and therefore something in-between. The fucking Roman shits. They required worship of this goddesses and yet forbid any of their _own_ citizens from becoming priests. 

“Solon, what of you, of Nikias? I cannot leave you here.”

“You must. I have no choice but to be among priests and Nikias will not abandon me. Take Iodocus and let him live free. He can help you when Duro’s weakness overcomes him.”

“Hey,” Duro protested. 

Solon laughed through his tears. “You are still not healed and Elill cannot carry you the whole way.”

“How will you convince the high priests we all didn’t escape?” Duro asked. 

Elill turned to him and explained. “I have a certain autonomy from my long service here. I often come and go at will. I must always have a fellow priest with me for safety so I usually take Iodocus to get him out of these walls.”

“And certainly Elill would go to see his dear friend Oenomaus’ last stand in the arena. Would not Iodocus beg to go with him? Would not you go as well to pay final respects now that you can walk unaided? You would not go with the group who already departed, not on today with the personal connection and mourning. You would tell no one but the priest guarding the door of your plans, of course. Why would Elill inform Iason when he never has before? You would only tell me, since I am charged with manning the hidden door this week.”

“A whole plan I see,” Elill said.

“I never planned for only Duro to leave this night.” Solon smiled. “I will collect Iodocus. Say your farewells to this room, Elill. You have all the earth before you now.” He turned and hurried from the room.

“Can I help?” Duro asked.

“Pack more bandages and as many of the healing salves as you can find. Then get dressed. We will leave at once.” Elill dropped his head into his hands. “I never planned on this. I never, we should not leave, not like this, but it is better for them to think us dead than escaped.” He looked at the walls and the ceiling. “I have known this room for fifteen years. I used to share it with Adad before he left. Solon and Nikias slept here when they were first acquired. This is only the second home I’ve known and I’ve spent more years here than I did in the first.” 

Duro did not know what to say. He knew not all of Elill’s memories here were bad. 

“If you truly desire to stay,” he offered.

Elill lifted his head. “If I truly desired it I would never have given into your manipulation. Do not doubt the strength of my own will, Duro. I cannot be tricked into such things. You are right. I wish to see Iodocus from this place. He reminds me much of Adad’s younger brother sold into slavery when we were taken to this temple. If I couldn’t see Nasir to a free life, I will see it for Iodocus. The gods know you two need a chaperone.” He waved Duro off. “Grab the medicinal supplies and your pack. I will meet you by the hidden door.” 

Duro followed his orders and grabbed a small sack of grain from the store as well as some water skins. It felt odd to be wearing so many layers of clothes again. The boots were new and would take some adjustment. He made his way to the side entrance and found Iodocus clinging tightly to Solon’s side.

“I will write to you, I will find a way,” Iodocus promised.

“I will hold you to such vows,” Solon said as he patted his head. “You will follow Elill and Duro’s orders. They know more of the wide world than you. You are going into a dangerous thing, Iodocus, though I do not doubt your ability to survive it.”

“We will make him the fiercest warrior we can,” Duro said. He patted Iodocus’ shoulder. “I only wished to let him hold on to youth that much longer.”

“Come the next spring his youth would be taken from him anyway,” Solon said. “It is better this way.” 

Iodocus stepped from Solon’s arms and wiped his eyes. “Promise me you will befriend Yima. He desires your companionship.”

“Iodocus,” Solon said with a laugh, “I do not think you are to spread such confidences.”

“Someone must tell you. If I am to be gone it should be me. Yima needs friends like you.”

Solon hugged him again. “I promise to befriend Yima.”

“An act which will deeply benefit you both,” Elill said as he emerged. 

He looked different, deadly, his hair completely pulled back from his face and falling down his back in a long braid. There was a bulk to him under the cloak which spoke of hidden weapons. 

Elill walked over to Solon and took his lips in a brief kiss. “You will find happiness.”

Solon grinned. “Do you give me orders or prophecies?”

“A mixture of both. Iodocus is right though, embrace a friendship with Yima. You will need each other’s strength to keep this temple from crumbling from the inside out. Make sure he receives my quarters. I think he will find the stories written on the ceiling a familiar comfort.” 

A round of hugs and tears were exchanged one last time before they stole out into the night. Capua was awash in chaos, mourning cries filling the streets as a fire still raged from the arena’s path.

“How will we find them?” Iodocus asked.

“They are south. Any of Spartacus’ forces that survived the burning of the arena have at least a two hour start on us. They may bear wounded with them but surely they have a large number of able bodies. They are trained gladiators and can keep a pace much quicker than our own. We shall take the unpaved path towards Neapolis and seek what news there is on the outskirts of the port.” 

No more words were spoken as they left Capua behind them. 

 

*************************

 

Three nights, two days, and one impressive glaring match with a priest of Bacchus later, they were on their way to the possible camp. Elill insisted they rest, no matter how close they might have been. Iodocus was exhausted and Duro’s left leg had seized up at least sixty paces ago. 

Their first resting place was unsuitable. Though it was near water it bore scars of a recent battle and the stench of decomposing flesh was all around. They would not have Iodocus sleep in such a place. 

Duro rested against Elill with Iodocus curled up in his lap. 

“I did not realize you and Solon were involved,” he said. 

“We were,” Elill paused and shook his head. “We were _young_ together. It was a lifetime ago when things were terrifying and new. Adad had just left me and I was alone. Solon was around my age and just as out-of-place without Nikias. It was never more than needed comfort and a love born out of friendship. Do not think I leave a great romance behind, Duro. I leave a great friend.”

“I wish he could have come with us.”

“I have all faith in Solon to succeed in his position. He may even become head priest one day.” Elill paused in his massage of Duro’s leg. “Try and sleep now. We will continue in the morning. If wounded were brought this way, near the temple that lying shit of a priest claims is at the base of the mountain, we will find them soon. You can hide tracks and traps. I doubt you can hide the sounds of a whole camp.”

“Were you in love with Adad?” Duro asked, ignoring all attempts to sleep.

Elill silence said enough. Duro tried to ignore the sudden dryness in his throat and churning of his stomach. 

“Of course I loved him as any would a childhood companion,” he finally said.

“That was not what I meant and you know it,” Duro said, surprised at how harsh his words sounded. “Apologies. Our travels have worn down my good humor.”

“What little you had of it,” Elill agreed. He resumed his massage of Duro’s abused muscles. “I did think myself in love with Adad for many years. It was never reciprocated, you must understand. Even as one of the Corybantes, his attraction has always been for women. He saw his duties as part of his position, something to suffer through. He cared for me as a brother; I replaced the younger one he lost when we were all sold. I think now I loved Adad more for his memory than who he truly was to me.”

“Though you still attempt to save Iodocus in memory of Adad’s brother, Nasir.”

“Nasir was barely five years when we were taken and sold. He would not stop crying as we were dragged from the temple. One of the soldiers hit him in the face with the butt of his sword. Some of my last memories of him are attempting to stitch up the wound with what little supplies we could bribe from the ship’s crew. A bone needle and line for the fish. It was a horrible job. I cannot help but think of how his life must have turned or even if he still lives.”

Elill patted Duro’s leg and started to hum.

“I know what you’re doing,” Duro murmured.

“And it is working,” Elill teased as Duro went to sleep. 

They found the temple just after mid-day. Duro couldn’t believe his own eyes but there it stood, ruined and fallen in the cradle of the mountain and sounds of life spilling over its wall. There was the smell of fire, the sound of axes chopping wood, and words and songs sung in various languages. 

Duro swayed between Iodocus and Elill. He did not think to see this, to have this, to find his friends again.

“All this travel and now his legs give out beneath him,” Iodocus said.

“Small boys with smart tongues get fed to the wolves,” Duro said. 

“That is obviously a lie if you are still among the living,” Iodocus said.

“Free under the stars for a week and he speaks with such cheek,” Elill said. 

The guard at the gate was small and half-terrified. A former house slave then and unused to duty. 

“We seek Spartacus,” Duro said.

The guard dropped his sword in surprise and rushed inside the temple’s walls. Duro exchanged a look with Elill and led the way down the path. 

Inside there was a whole group gathered of unfamiliar faces. He could recall none from the House of Batiatus. 

“By the fucking gods,” Donar’s voice yelled. He emerged from the group and rushed forward. “The dead walk among us,” he claimed as he hugged Duro and lifted him off the ground.

“Duro,” Naevia breathed as Donar set him down.

She looked worn down, a large scar newly faded on her face, but she was alive. There was more than one miracle among them. He exchanged a nod with her. 

“Bless the fucking gods,” Lydon said. He ran up to them and tightly held Duro. “We thought you for the afterlife, brother.”

“I was nearly there,” Duro said. He looked around the temple grounds. “Where is Agron?” He did not fear the answer. If his brother was no longer in this world he doubted he would have such a greeting.

“A scouting trip near Neapolis. He will return before the sun sets. There is so much to tell you,” Lydon said.

“Though first, we should meet your friends,” Mira said. She looked good. Clearly in command among the forces.

Duro turned back to Elill and Iodocus. Iodocus was half-turned into Elill’s side, trying to hide from all the eyes upon him. Elill also looked uncomfortable, there was a defiant set to his jaw and his knuckles were white where he gripped Iodocus' hand.

“These are two of my saviors and trusted brothers. Please meet Elill and Iodocus.”

“They are slaves?” Donar asked.

“They are priests, of a sort, in a way. Elill is an old acquaintance of Oenomaus.”

“Oenomaus is here,” Naevia said. “Though he lies half in this world and the other.” 

“Then we should keep him company as he did for me,” Duro said.

“If Gannicus is not as his side,” Lydon said.

“Gannicus? He is here?” Elill asked.

“You know him?” Lydon asked.

Elill nodded. “I would have words with the Celt if he is amenable.”

“He is out hunting game,” a long-missed and familiar voice said from behind them.

Duro turned to find Spartacus, a grin wide on his face though eyes still weighed down with concern. 

“The Underworld does not have a taste for Germans, I see,” Spartacus said.

Duro took Spartacus’ outstretched hand and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Nor Thracians since you still walk among us.”

Spartacus nodded. “We both live to greet a new dawn. You brought a child?”

“Right now that child can stay on his feet longer than I.”

Spartacus smiled. “Hardly a surprise since your place was so often on your back in the sand.”

“You think me dead and these are the words you greet my miraculous return with?”

“Does the German not appreciate honesty?” He slung his arm around Duro’s shoulders. “Come, bring your friends, we will find you a place to bed down and food to eat.” 

Iodocus scrambled out from Elill’s hold and stood at Duro’s side. He studied Spartacus with suspicion.

“You are the Bringer of Rain?” he asked.

“So I have been called,” Spartacus said.

“Hmm,” Iodocus said. “I expected someone bigger.”

Elill’s stifled laugh turned into a loud cough as he tried to look anywhere but at them.

“I see you return from the dead and bring a demon along with you,” Spartacus teased. “Come, there is much to tell and I would hear of you story before your brother returns.”

 

***********************

 

Duro felt relaxed for the first time since Oenomaus’ capture. He had decent food in his belly, sat in the cool shade inside the temple, and Iodocus was practicing his letters in the sand with Elill. 

“What fucking trick do the gods play on me,” Agron yelled. 

Duro rushed up to his brother and laughed. 

“You still live, Agron, is that not enough of a trick?” he asked. 

The punch to his jaw wasn’t completely unexpected. Agron always suffered with conflicting emotions.

“Duro,” Elill and Iodocus yelled as they ran forward.

“It’s okay, I’m okay. Not like I was accustomed to more than just bread and broth anyway.”

“I’d rather not have to nurse your broken jaw,” Elill said.

“Agron,” a young man yelled as he ran towards them with Naevia. 

He was shorter than her and about as dark as Elill and, interestingly enough, commanded his brother’s attention. There was a bandage wrapped around his side, almost twin to Duro’s own.

Agron’s gaze flickered between Duro and the stranger. There were unshed tears in his eyes and Duro knew his brother was moments from losing his composure.

“Give us a moment,” Duro said.

Elill shook his head. “I do not think that is wise.” The look he gave Agron would’ve made lesser men flinch. 

“My brother will not harm me,” Duro assured.

Iodocus laughed. “Any more than he already has?”

Duro chuckled. “I will explain later. Now, please, everyone leave us.”

All followed his orders except for the young man with the bandage.

“You as well, friend.”

“My name is Nasir,” he said. “I,” he paused and looked to Agron. “It is an honor to meet you, Duro. We thought you lost from this world.”

“I had my moments of the same. We will be with your shortly. Please distract my overbearing guardian of a child and the young boy he has with him.”

Nasir smiled. “I will gladly do so.”

Duro cautiously approached his brother and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. He pulled Agron down and cradled his head. 

“Let it go,” he whispered.

Agron’s hands painfully dug into his back. It was a desperate grip from a man who thought all lost. This was his brother, his twin, and though they rarely spoke of their deeper connection, it was there. Duro shuddered along with Agron as finally everything felt _right_ again, complete even.

“You could have sent a fucking message,” Agron said.

Duro rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Agron, how? It was sheer luck we found this temple. It was only Elill’s glaring a priest into submission that let us know a temple still stood here.” 

“I thought you dead.”

“I had my moments, brother, trust me.”

“How?”

“Oenomaus found me after you left the ludus. He brought me to Elill. I was there healing in a bedchamber below the temple until you burned that fucking arena to the ground. We escaped in the chaos.”

There was an unhappy set to Agron’s body. A concern for another time. Now was for more important matters.

“You live,” Agron whispered.

“I do, though it was only a half-life without my brother at my side.”

Agron’s hold was painful now but Duro would not let go, not for anything in the world.

“Do you not have something to tell me?” Duro asked. “That boy, Nasir was it, you listen to his words. I’ve never seen you respond so quickly to someone calling your name.”

Agron huffed a laugh into Duro’s chest. “He risked all for us.” His hand ghosted over Duro’s side. “I almost lost him to a similar wound.”

Duro tightened his hold on Agron. “We are both with you now. Do not lose yourself to past fear.”

“Duro, an hour ago I thought you dead and left to the fucking crows.”

“I always strive to surprise you, do I not?”

The sounds of the camp surrounded them, curious whispers from all who did not know Duro. They could all get fucked. This was his time with his brother. This was starting the road to being whole again.

“I must tell Spartacus of what I found in Neapolis,” Agron said as he began to pull back.

“Let him wait,” Duro said. “Let them all wait.”

Agron nodded and held on.


	5. Four

Agron still had his duties as a second-in-command to fulfill and Duro left him to it. Well, honestly, more like extracted himself from his brother’s hold. After a day of traveling and reunion he had little patience for politics. Agron always had the better mind for strategy, good thing for a man destined to be an Elder of their clan. Duro always cared more about everything that was the opposite of battle strategies, treaties, and politics. He had neither the patience nor talent for the subtlety required to succeed in all three. 

He passed through the darken hallways of the temple seeking Elill and Iodocus and found Nasir instead.

“Greetings, brother,” he called out.

Nasir paused and look around behind him. “Do you speak to me?”

Duro chuckled. “I see no other who would warrant such a title.”

“Are the gladiators not your brothers?”

“Some are. My brother is certainly getting along better with the Gauls.”

Nasir ducked his head. 

“Ah, not that much better,” Duro said.

“He and Crixus came to blows hours before your arrival.”

That was of little surprise. “There is a deep-seated problem there. Crixus regained his strength in the arena largely through the application of breaking my face.”

“Is that not reason for you to hate him alone?”

He shook his head. “I do not hate Crixus. I do not love him. I respect that when the time came to make a decision, he chose the right one even if it was for selfish reasons.”

Nasir suddenly looked uncomfortable. “You and your brother must exchange words. There are things you do not know and I would not feel comfortable enough to discuss yet.”

Duro had no reason to push the issue. Nasir looked like a spooked deer right now and he had no desire to get gored so soon after healing. 

“Nasir, my brother is not a perfect man. He’s not even good most days. I suffer from no delusions where that is concerned. We come from a family that loves with their full hearts and makes selfish, often hot-headed decisions. Do not worry if revelation of these past few months will tarnish our connection. There is nothing my brother can tell me that will make me turn from him.”

“Even if it is that he told all Naevia was dead when he had knowledge that she was in the mines?”

“The mines are a death sentence. I would say in his position I would make the same call. It makes me just as bad as him, I suppose.”

“But you would go after him?”

Duro snorted. As if that was even fucking question. “Of course I would. I would seek my own death to do so.”

Nasir frowned. “The option should have been made to us from the start. I agreed with Agron’s words at first and caused Naevia to suffer a day longer than she should have. I did not speak up then nor when she was at my villa being used by my dominus. I have guilt and she holds no anger against me.”

“And what were you to do back then?” Elill said. He stood beside Duro and his hair tickled Duro’s arm. “As a loyal slave of position to your dominus, what were you to do when faced with a nameless slave you had no knowledge of or connection with? Sympathize with her, of course. Offer comfort if it was allowed. You did not know her then. You did not know her but a passing face and a fleeting name when you went to the mines. You spoke up when it mattered. You told the truth before it was too late. Greater men have done far worse things in the name of honor, greed, and power. Do not diminish what you have done. Even more, do not diminish the safety and security Naevia now associates with you.”

“You’ve been busy,” Duro said.

“Healers love to talk,” Elill said. He tugged on Duro’s hand. “Come, I would have you help me attend Oenomaus. It is time you returned the favor. I am sure Nasir has his own tasks.”

Nasir studied them both as they left. Duro hoped that wasn’t suspicion in his eyes. He already knew a long talk was due with Agron and he didn’t want Nasir’s concerns to make it even longer. 

“Oenomaus is awake?” Duro asked.

“He has opened his eyes many times though he asked Gannicus not yet be informed. Or anyone who has not spent time with the healers. I doubt the female healer would’ve told us he still lived if it wasn’t for Oenomaus himself opening his eyes when we arrived.”

“Why would she do that? Did you explain you are old friends?”

“I think few care for any words from my mouth here,” Elill muttered. 

Duro stepped to the side as dust from the roof rained down on them. The roof of the temple was half-gone and no amount of repairs could fix it fast enough. Luckily the healing room, more of a nook really, was under a sturdy ceiling. It was dark here with only oil lamps to provide light. Oenomaus was wrapped up tightly in a sheet. Iodocus was perched on a chair as he cleaned dirt and grime from Oenomaus’ face. 

He’d seen Oenomaus stand still as stone but this, it was completely different. 

“Do not look so concerned,” Elill whispered. “I promise you he lives.” Elill ran a comforting hand over Oenomaus face before he flicked his earlobe. “You are a fucking idiot and if you ever lose such sense again I will personally feed your entrails to a lion.”

“I will endeavor to follow the will of the gods’ messenger in the future,” Oenomaus growled out. He still kept his eyes closed as if the low light was too painful.

“That’s right you will,” Elill said. He pulled back the sheet and checked the status of Oenomaus’ wounds and made a face. “I’ve seen better work but this will hold.”

“They are professionals here.”

“What do you know? You were hanging between the world’s veils due to your stupidity.”

Oenomaus coughed. Iodocus handed Elill a mug of water. Duro helped to tilt Oenomaus enough so that he wouldn’t choke as he drank. It was odd to be on this side of the healing bed. 

“I have already spoken to the boy Nasir of Duro. He may be an ally you need. They do not trust Syrians in this camp.”

“Thanks to Ashur they have good fucking reason,” Duro said.

Elill’s jaw tightened as he said, “A single man does not cause justification to distrust a whole land of people. Do you not trust me?”

“I know you.”

“And does the camp know every last Syrian or Assyrian or Akkadian or Babylonian? For they all come from the land now called Syria. Do they shun each who speaks Aramaic? Those who worship Mithras? Or Ishtar? We are not all the same.”

“I know, Elill.” Duro gripped his shoulder. “I will speak to them, if it will help.”

“I do not need you to speak for me,” Elill harshly said. 

Duro stepped back in surprise. It wasn’t the first time Elill had spoken to him like that, he just wasn’t expecting it now of all times.

Elill’s shoulders dropped. “Apologies, Duro. I am overtired.”

“And insulted,” Iodocus said. “The least they could do is whisper quietly.”

“It is nothing of concern,” Elill insisted. He pressed a hand to Oenomaus’ cheek. “Gannicus truly wishes to speak with you. He is often at your side.”

Oenomaus opened his eyes briefly to state at the ceiling. “Guilt drives men to such things, I suppose. We must have words. I do not wish to share them yet.”

“I believe he is still hunting,” Duro said.

“I will speak with him when he returns. I will have the healer fetch him. You three should find food.”

“Iodocus go with Duro and secure us a meal. I will follow soon.”

Duro cautiously touched Elill’s arm. “Why do you delay?”

“Oenomaus and I must also have words in private. I will come soon and see to your legs, I promise.”

“My legs are fine,” Duro insisted.

“Then why do they shake?” Iodocus asked.

Duro glared at him. The little shit saw too much. He was both infuriated and proud. Iodocus grinned in response.

“Go,” Elill ordered. 

Duro wanted to argue but his legs were starting to seize up again. He trailed behind Iodocus and gladly sat down in an empty spot. Duro made himself comfortable while Iodocus fetched stew and bread. He watched the others until a shadow fell over him. He looked up to meet the pleasant smile of one of the new rebels. Chadara, if he recalled.

“You are brother to Agron,” she said.

Her smile was flirty and her eyes calculating. Duro knew what she was here for. In previous times he would’ve gladly taken the unspoken offer. Not now though, not with so many uncertain thoughts churning in his head.

“I am. And you are cunning to seek company with the brother of Spartacus’ second. Your efforts are wasted on the likes of me.”

Chadara nodded in respect. “I apologize; I did not realize you were taken. The priest is yours then?”

“He is just friend.”

Chadara smirked. “You wish it more.”

She was a perceptive one. That could be a great asset and a great danger. “I know not yet,” he admitted. 

“You know. You are just trying to convince yourself you don’t. I wish you well in your attempt.”

“And yours,” Duro said. He gave her a small smile before she disappeared back into the temple. 

 

***********************

Duro was half-asleep thanks to food in his belly and Elill’s hands upon his skin when Agron went and ruined all.

“Where the fuck is it?” Agron demanded staring at Elill.

“Where is what? Your sense? I believe you forever robbed of that,” Elill said. “Lower your fucking voice, your brother is trying to sleep.”

“He is awake,” Duro said. He shook his head before glaring up at his brother. “Do you forget all rules of hospitality?”

“We are missing our map and our coin,” Agron said.

“If you need coin we have some, brother. Jewels as well,” he said. He gestured to Iodocus. “Get the purse.”

“We do not need your fucking pittance.”

“From the sight of the clothing here I would say we have more than you,” Iodocus said. He dumped open all three of their packs at Agron’s feet showing an array of cloth, coin purses, jewels, oils, flutes, knives, and hair ties. 

“It is not in your packs then. What of your robes, priest?”

Elill stood. “I am of the Corybantes and not quite a priest but if you insist.” Elill dropped his robe standing bare underneath except for his loincloth and the hoops in his nipples. He shook out his hair as well. He turned around in a circle “Do you see your fucking map anywhere?” 

“You could have hid it somewhere.”

“Agron,” Duro yelled. “The last I saw you map it was in your fucking hands. Elill has only been with us and Oenomaus. Apologize or find your knees badly bruised.”

“My knees?”

“I spare your cock only for Nasir’s sake.” Duro reached up and dug his fingers hard into the back of Agron’s knee. “Apologize.”

“My mistake,” he hissed at Elill.

Duro dug harder.

“Apologies for accusation.”

Elill shook his head in disgust and pulled his robe on. “Stop, Duro. I would not have words given under duress, they hold little meaning.” He rose to his full height and slightly towered over Agron. “Hear me, barbarian. If I had any desire to bring down your little camp do you really think one small map would make the difference? I have held audience with men more powerful than your entire clan and I have made them beg for my touch and taste. If I had any desire to bring a legion down on your head I’d need nothing more than a tender smile to see it done. If you ever seek to accuse me in such manner again we will have more than just words.” 

“Agron, go,” Duro urged. “We do not have it here. Look elsewhere.”

Agron turned to him, nostrils flaring. “We will speak of this later.”

Elill and Iodocus both glared after Agron as he left. There were people running back and forth in a frenzy, some half-mad and all terrified. 

“Utter fucking chaos,” Iodocus said.

Duro snorted and tried to cover his smile. So much for raising Iodocus as a proper young man. 

“We should make appearance,” he said.

“Yes,” Elill agreed, “let us not raise even more suspicion.”

“I do not know what has gotten into my brother.” 

Elill helped pull him up, hands resting on Duro’s hips. “He only seeks to protect you from that which he deems unworthy and dangerous.”

All the camp seemed to gather somewhere between the sands and the steps. Gannicus and Spartacus were arguing. 

“How could Gannicus steal the map? He was with Oenomaus,” Iodocus said.

“He couldn’t have,” Elill agreed. “Yet trust is not to be easily found here for Outsiders.” 

There was a familiar tension in the air. Duro could sense it, taste it, and he swore he could hear Doctore’s old whip about to snap in the background. This would not end well. 

He gripped Elill’s shoulder. “I think Iodocus should go back inside,” he said.

“I want to see. It is not the first fight I’ve witnessed,” Iodocus said.

“He shall stay,” Elill said. “He will see worse in time.”

Gannicus laughed and Elill grimaced. 

“That is not a good sign,” he said.

It all went to shit far too quickly. Lightning crashed in one moment and in the next, Spartacus and Gannicus faced each other on the sands. Duro almost ran forward when he saw Agron there, sword out and ready to fight, but Spartacus words stopped him. 

“Get back you fucking shit,” Duro hissed. 

It was Nasir who got through to Agron, hitting him on the back and ordering to give his sword to Spartacus. That was unexpected. 

Rain started to pour just as the blood started to fly. Duro watched as Crixus moved closer to the action. Mira followed suit.

“We must stop this,” she said.

Duro really fucking agreed with her. Crixus ordered them all to stay put. Duro grimaced as Gannicus pushed off the breaching wall and kicked Spartacus in the jaw. Mira walked past them, something catching her eye, and she picked up a bow and arrow. 

“What is she doing?” Elill asked.

“I know not. I would, however, duck.” 

Laughter soon died as Mira’s arrow sailed and struck Chadara through the throat. She fell to the stone steps, Nasir’s voice calling her name.

Duro grabbed Iodocus and held him back. “Go back inside.”

“No,” Elill said. “Let him stay. It is better he sees this now than on the battlefield.”

“Why did Mira kill her? What did she do?” Iodocus’ voice was suspiciously high as he asked.

“I know not,” Duro whispered. 

It was then Mira held up the map, found in the cloth pouch around Chadara’s body. 

“Fuck,” Duro murmured. 

“Iodocus, go seek Oenomaus,” Elill gently said as Spartacus spoke with Gannicus. 

Iodocus paused only for a moment, giving both Duro and Elill hugs before he scurried back inside the temple walls. 

Nasir remained kneeling at Chadara’s said, clutching her hand. No one else approached. 

“Does she not have friends from her villa?” he asked. 

“They may be afraid to come forth or to be tainted by association.”

“Nasir is not,” he said. 

“Nasir is close to Spartacus and Mira. He is trusted by Crixus and beloved by Agron. He has nothing to fear.”

“Even though he made attempt on Spartacus’ life.” 

He still couldn’t believe that, having heard it from Lydon’s own lips. Agron valued loyalty above most things and to be so close to a man who tried to kill Spartacus; he and his brother really did require their own long discussion. 

“He also took a sword for Mira’s sake. It is not the same.”

Elill patted Duro’s cheek. He approached Nasir and crouched down beside him.

“I am not a true priest, not a Galli, but I have performed the funerary rites before. I would see her to them, if you would allow it and think it welcome,” Elill said. 

“You would do this for a stranger?” Nasir asked.

Duro’s breath caught when he saw the sad smile on Elill’s face. He still had yet to say if this Nasir was Adad’s Nasir, but it was clear it mattered not.

“It is not the first funeral I’ve helped attend. My gods may not be hers but I feel these things are always more a comfort to the living.”

“Is that not tempting to the Fates to speak so?”

“They have yet to strike me down.”

*********************

 

It felt like this day and night would never see an end. Duro’s legs were bothering him again and he could not find sleep. He left Elill and Iodocus in search of conversation or story to lull him to sleep. He was surprised to find Nasir at Oenomaus’ beside, awake and alone. Duro sat beside Nasir and smiled in greeting.

“Where has my brother gone?”

“Spartacus’s side,” Nasir said. 

Duro rolled his eyes. “Agron has always been at war with desire and duty. He would want to be here with you but in his absence, may I offer some comfort?”

Nasir studied him. “Am I not a stranger to you?”

“You are beloved of my brother and therefore same to me.” Duro grinned. “Well, not exactly the same.”

“It is truly as simple as that?”

“Every living creature has its secrets and none of us are wholly innocent.”

“You do not know what I have done.”

“You have tried to kill Spartacus, lied to Crixus at my brother’s request, fallen in love Agron, and nearly died fighting with Spartacus and Mira. Is that about right?”

Nasir gaped at him. “How can you possibly be so accepting?”

Duro shrugged. “I do have questions and concerns as any loving brother would. I have seen nothing yet in you to cause hatred. Your words stay my brother’s hand. That is a neat trick and one I never learned to master. He sees you as equal.” He patted Nasir’s head. “We are not here to speak of him though, not unless you want to. If you wish to speak of Chadara, I will not judge. You have right to mourn a friend.”

“Even though she sought to betray us?”

“If she never felt accepted among you, can you blame her? Freedom conditioned on the terms of war is not for everyone.”

“No, it is not,” Nasir agreed. “I have only known her for two years. She always had the best gossip. Always knew how to draw people into her. She was wasted out here, I think. Chadara was never one to follow orders though she was used to being respected, even among other slaves. Her father was in the senate and her mother a Greek slave. Her beauty sent her from household to household until she came to my villa. Most wives didn’t want her around their husbands or sons. I do not think I was a good friend to her in the end.”

“The only person’s happiness you are responsible for is your own. You may add to others but the decisions they choose to make do not lie on your shoulders.”

Someone was imitating the call of a barn owl and Duro knew Agron asked for him. It was an old trick learned long ago; a way to slip out into the night without alerting their parents. He cursed under his breath.

“That is the call for me to leave.” He patted Nasir’s shoulder. “You can speak to me when you desire. Elill as well, he is a good listener.”

“He is a Syrian, yes?”

“He is. From Damascus.”

“He will not find life here easy. They do not trust Syrians.”

“I know well the one who led to their distrust. You are beloved to the leaders. Perhaps one day Elill will stand the same.” Duro laughed. “I doubt he cares much for their opinions.”

Nasir smiled. “Neither did I for a time. Things changed.”

The call sounded again and Duro huffed. “I hope sleep finds you soon, Nasir.”

He followed the sound down to the entrance of the tunnels. Agron stood there grinning. 

“You are the leader now, why must I lose sleep over it?”

“We would speak with you. Events from today leave concern.”

“A corpse on the stairs and accusations flying about, of course they leave fucking concern,” Duro said.

He followed Agron into a room which held Spartacus, Mira, Crixus, and the old man, Lucius. He realized they stood in the former inner-sanctum and tried not to chuckle. The serious faces all around told him that would not be a wise decision.

“Elill, he is your lover?” Spartacus asked. 

Spartacus never was one for pretty words when he required information. “He is only dear friend,” Duro explained. 

“Who has sacrificed the comfortable life in a state-sponsored temple to see you here? That is a very good friend,” Lucius said. 

“He has experience in the healing arts. Something you are in short supply of.”

“We do not trust Syrian shits,” Crixus said. 

Duro wanted to punch a wall or a face in frustration. “You can trust this one. Just as well as you can trust your own. Why would he bring me here, only to betray me?”

“To lead the Romans to us,” Agron said.

“You are unfuckingbelievable, brother. Is your boy not a Syrian?”

“He proved he is dedicated to our cause.”

“But first made attempt on Spartacus’ life.”

“He was a slave. He knew no better.”

“And Elill well remembers what life was like _before_ his village was destroyed and he was given over to the Romans. His only true loyalty is to to Ishtar, or Cybele, or Astarte, whateverthefuck he calls her.”

“He would do well to start praying to Freyja.”

Duro shook his head. “He carries the word and approval of Doctore.”

“Who currently hangs between life and death.”

“When he awakes for good, which he will, you will hear true word spoken. He has my trust, Agron. Can you not let that be enough?”

“You must understand why we worry about the risk,” Mira said.

“If I may have a word,” Elill interrupted them.

Spartacus whirled around. “We did not hear you.”

“One of your many security faults, I am sure. Most slaves are trained to be neither seen nor heard. That was probably the reason Chadara had more damning evidence on her than just a map. You seem to have a problem in underestimating those who are not obviously warriors. Gods help you if an assassin comes this way. That is neither here nor there, I suppose. The Praetor seems too full of pride to send actual trained killers after you.”

“We are gladiators,” Agron said. 

“You _were_ gladiators who trained daily for hours fighting once a half-year at most. Or would’ve if your owner wasn’t in such dire financial straits. However, you were speaking of _me_ , my possible loyalties and treacheries. I feel the need to make my own voice heard rather than see your camp brought down by its own assumptions. Again.”

“What meaning is in those words?” Crixus asked.

“That the young girl, Chadara, given half-the-chance to be _listened_ to and _felt_ like she belonged probably would not have turned on you all. You may assume everyone is with you in this fight, but do you know if they stay out of loyalty, fear, or lack of other options? Surely as leaders you know little of what goes on with those below you. Do you even have the desire to care, I wonder, or would you rather leave it to those like Mira to sort out. What are all your followers to do if they feel like they cannot seek peace or happiness under the hierarchy of leadership and guidance?”

“No one asked for your opinion,” Mira said. 

“And no one asked for your wrongful assumptions about me. Please, allow me to tell you my history and you can decide if _one_ man deserves the right to condemn a whole region of people. I was taken from my homeland by the Romans in one of the many and constant battles in the land now called Syria. I was stripped of my identity, and forced into a worship that makes a mockery of all I hold dear. I have spent fifteen years of my life subject to the rules, whims, and lust of Rome all while being denied my own identity as a man, much less a Syrian or a devotee of Ishtar. If you think I do not desire to see the ground choke red with Roman blood, you are very fucking mistaken.”

“Well, we can clearly see your influence on him, brother,” Agron said.

Duro slapped him on the side of the head.

“I took my first Roman life when I was but a decade in years. How long have any of you been slaves? Five years at most?”

“I was taken as a boy,” Crixus said.

“And eventually made into a gladiator. It is far from the life of a house slave or, gods forbid, one in the fields or at the mines. You struggle to understand what it means to live your whole life, all your formative years, lacking _choice_.”

“So we should embrace all strangers as friends?” Agron asked.

“No, but you should trust the judgment of your own blood,” Lucius said. He exchanged a nod with Elill. “All the attendants of Magna Mater are taken from foreign lands. None are citizens of Rome. If any of us have a fucking place in this temple, it’s him. This was one of hers after all.”

Elill pointed to the Greek symbols carved into the ceiling beam. “So I noted.” He nodded to them all. “I leave you to your discussion.”

“That went well,” Duro said. “Give us a week before threatening fatal action.”

“That was never an option,” Spartacus argued.

Duro scoffed. “After today any detractors will fear they will end the same.”

“We must seek to make all feel united under the cause,” Spartacus agreed. “We shall meet again in the morning. Go, seek rest tonight.”

Duro pulled Agron to the side as they left. “Should this really be your biggest concern on this night?”

“We were nearly betrayed by one of our own.”

“Who now lies dead, a beloved friend of Nasir. You claim him do you not?”

“He is not to be claimed or owned, Duro.”

“You know fucking well that is not what I meant.”

“I offered him what comfort he would take. I left him sleeping.”

“Did you really?”

“I checked before our meeting. Do you think me heartless?”

“Heartless, no. Brainless, completely. I spoke with Nasir at Oenomaus’ side before answering your call. He was dressed not for sleep, but for patrol. I would bet what coin I have left Nasir is out at Chadara’s grave. Your concerns should be there, brother, and not with a man who has done nothing but risked his life for my own.”

“I do not like him.”

“I suppose it is good that he does not like you either.”

“What have I done to offend his fucking sensibilities?”

“The first time he saw you, you punched me in the jaw. You accused him of betrayal today and tried to embarrass him in public, don’t think I didn’t understand what you meant by having him strip. It will take more than nudity to make a fucking member of the Corybantes blush. Besides all that, he had to treat the collateral damage of your attack on the whorehouse in Capua. Then witnessed the destruction of the arena. He does not have a high opinion of you.”

“A mutual shared feeling.”

“And what has Elill done to you?”

Agron shrugged. “He is a Syrian, is that not enough?”

Duro sighed. “Family histories may soon reveal themselves and you will have many words to eat and apologies to make.”

“You speak nonsense.”

“A side effect of so much time spent among those who commune with the gods.” He hugged his brother. “Find your own Syrian and get some rest. Let us hope the morning will lead us to better things.” 

Agron clutched his forearms. “We seek Neapolis within the week. There is a ship soon to dock full of people from our lands. I would have you at my side, Duro.”

Duro laughed in Agron’s face. He clutched his still-healing wound as his body shook.

“You think my words amusing?”

“Your words, no,” Duro teased, recalling somehow simpler times. “Agron, come the morning Elill and Iodocus will damn near have to roll me down the steps of this temple. I have done nothing but rest in bed since we last saw each other. My biggest accomplishment before this journey was walking the streets of Capua’s market. It is a marvel I am still able to stand. I am far from fighting form and if I were to accompany you, you’d have to abandon me halfway there or halfway back.”

“I want you fighting at my side again.”

Duro rested his forehead against Agron’s. “In time, brother, we will do so again. Leave me to heal this week and I will be at your side again come the next.”


	6. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the violence that happens at the end of Episode Seven. You all know the one I mean. Where Spartacus' sword gives new meaning to the term "face-off."

Agron, Spartacus, Lucius and Donar had set out for Neapolis late the previous night. Duro was trying to rationalize to himself, much like he had to Agron, why he could not be at their side. It wasn’t easy to be left behind. He’d made Donar swear to watch his brother’s back under threat of a very unpleasant death.

“You are making me dizzy with your pacing,” Elill said. He grabbed Duro’s forearm and pulled him down to sit. “Peace, Duro.”

Duro leaned his head on Elill’s shoulder and sighed. “I do not take well to being idle.’

“A thing I am quite familiar with.” He dropped a set of bandages into Duro’s lap. “Wrap those.”

He wrinkled his nose. “This is what you give me to do?”

“Until you are cleared to practice swordplay and fight with the others, yes.”

Duro shrugged his shoulders and set to his task. Iodocus soon joined them as well. It was good work even if he got frustrated over his rolls not turning out as nicely as Elill’s.

“We will make a medicus of you yet,” Elill said when they finished. 

“Do you speak to me or Iodocus?”

“Iodocus. You have a much longer study ahead of you,” Elill teased. 

Duro knew he couldn’t dispute that and didn’t bother to waste breath.

“Three little birds chirping nonsense outside my door,” Oenomaus said. 

Duro grinned. It was glorious to see him up and about again. He started to walk the other day, much to the cheers of all, though he still lacked strength. Now it was almost as if a new version of the old man stood before them.

“The sunlight suits you,” Elill said. 

Oenomaus held a hand out to him and pulled Elill up. They exchanged a hug and whispered words Duro could not discern. It was the happiest he’d ever seen the two of them together and he wondered if this was how they acted when the world felt kinder. 

Iodocus was next in line for a hug. There was a sad tug to Oenomaus’ mouth as he embraced him. “You are already shedding the signs of your religious life,” he said, tugging on the small warrior braid Camilla had woven in his hair. One of Elill’s old salvaged beads hung at the end. 

“I think my parents would be more proud of this life than my old one.”

Oenomaus held Iodocus’ chin in his hands. “They would be proud of any life you lived. You are a son that honors any parent.”

Duro’s turn was next and he carefully stood on still unsteady legs.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said as he met Oenomaus’ arms. “Elill promises the soreness will soon leave.”

“We will see to a regiment to regain strength in your legs. Your arms are not as bad. We must focus on your lower body before I attempt to teach you the sword again.”

“An axe like Donar’s might be more prudent.”

Oenomaus shook his head. “You do not have the broad strength or the range for it. We will keep with the sword and the spear. Maybe Lucius can teach you archery.”

“I am decent with a bow though we are lacking in the resources to train.”

“We must embrace the ways of our ancestors,” Elill said. “Bone, tusk, horn, and rock for arrowheads and small knives. More wood should be stripped in formed for arrows and steaks.”

“Good advice you should share with Mira,” Oenomaus said.

“If they have not already done such I doubt they would welcome my words,” Elill said. “Go and greet all who wait for you. You can sneak up on them and judge their technique.”

“It has been too long since I study many of their forms.” He held out a hand to Iodocus. “Show me the way.”

“A duty I gladly carry out.” 

Duro watched them go. They stopped to chat with Nasir. He gestured to them. 

“You have had some time to study him. Is he your Nasir?”

Elill shrugged as he kneeled to gather up the bandages before they moved to follow. “The age is right,” he said as they walked. “As is the scar on his eyebrow but I would not make assumption. Nasir is not an uncommon name and it is not unheard for slaves to be backhanded by those wearing rings. I would seek a private audience with him to discuss matters.”

Elill paused to work out a knot in his hair. Duro glared at one of the young men who stopped and stared. He shooed him along before Elill could notice.

“Have you not found the time?” he asked. 

“Your brother is a protective, possessive creature.”

“It is a family trait.”

“So I am gathering,” Elill said as he gave a pointed look to Duro’s hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m leaning on your strength,” Duro said before he moved to rest his chin on Elill’s shoulder.

“You are glaring daggers at that poor young man who looks ready to faint.”

“I do not like his look,” Duro said. He narrowed his eyes at the man and nodded in satisfaction when he tripped on the stairs.

Elill shook his head. “You are truly a minion of Wrath.”

He grinned in agreement. “Tell me what you remember of that time, of Nasir and Adad. Perhaps I can also approach it in conversation with Nasir. It would give us something to speak about other than my brother.”

“Is your brother not enough,” Elill muttered.

Duro tugged on one of Elill’s braids. “I know you think him little more than piss and shit. I swear you will see the value in him soon. He is loyal to those he loves but he does not trust easily. Do not judge him for actions made when half-sane.”

“I think said actions show our true motivations.”

“Then my brother’s will always be those to fight and protect.”

Elill took a deep breath and patted Duro’s cheek. “You are right. I should not judge a man in the same manner he judges me. You are both barely out of adolescence and still have much to learn of the wide world.”

Duro straightned up. That was just rude. “We are not children.”

“Yet far from the most mature. It is nice to see youthful spirits live on.”

“About Adad and Nasir then?”

Duro could tell Elill was biting his lips to hold back his smile. He tugged on the braid in his hand that much harder.

“Okay,” Elill said with a laugh. He extracted himself from Duro’s hold. “We were all orphans back in Damascus. I knew my mother though I lived in the temple. My father was one of the priests and my mother an attendant. They both died of the plague when I was six. 

We were all orphans, like I said, but I at least knew of my family history. It’s why I was promised to Ishtar, my family line had roots going back to one of the original Akkadian families. Nasir and Adad were the children of one of the respected healers, Tiamat. She died giving birth to Nasir so Adad promised himself to the priests if they would help in the care and raising of his baby brother.

When the Roman fucks came we were handed over as an appeasement; a sacrifice to the Roman state gods. Nasir was still too young, even for their tastes, only five years in this world. While Adad and I were sent to the temple, Nasir was sold. I consider that the last hint of Roman kindness I ever witnessed.”

“What happened to Adad?” Duro asked. “You just said he left.”

Elill’s lips twisted in a cruel smile. “Adad was a favorite of one of our devoted _worshipers_. When he died, he left farmland in Hispania Citerior to Adad. The Romans wouldn’t let him take it saying, as Corybantes, as Galli, we were not men, nor women able to bear heirs, and could not inherit. Our head priest was determined to have that land though. They bought Adad’s manumission and attempted to erase his life as a Corybante. I do not know if he yet lives. Suspicions tells me he was killed on the road. I have not heard of or from him since he left four years ago.”

“Yet you believe he might have escaped.”

“Adad always found a way to survive. He would’ve suspected treachery among his traveling companions.”

They watched Nasir teach one of the former house-slaves a defensive blow.

“Nasir has clearly learned that skill as well,” Duro said.

Elill nodded in agreement. They were both enraptured, like everyone else, watching Oenomaus talk to Crixus and Naevia. It felt _right_ that he stood with them now. For Duro, Oenomaus was always a constant thought and part of his recovery and journey. He would not be standing here if it wasn’t for that man. He couldn’t imagine re-training or continuing this fight without Oenomaus’ guidance. 

Thoughts and contemplation were soon broken by the return of Spartacus, Lucius, Agron, Donar and a whole group of liberated captives.

“They are all so fair-haired and pink,” Elill said.

“Peoples from East of the Rhine. The North as well.” He turned to Elill with a grin. “These are my kin.”

“Gods help us all,” Elill said.

Duro couldn’t believe the sheer number of Germans before him. It was almost to size of one of their villages. The voices spoke in different dialects of the same tongue. Even Duro could not translate all the words but that sound, that cadence, it meant home.

“Oh that is quite a loud man,” Iodocus said as one of the Germans yelled his words of greeting.

“I have more concern for the one as big as a tree,” Elill said. 

“It is possible to intimidate you, then?” Duro asked.

“A man with a fist the size of my face? I would be a fool not to think twice about exchanging cross words with him.” Elill nudged him forward. “Why do you not go to officially greet them with Agron?”

“I will wait. Nasir is the first person at his side now. I will come second.” 

It was a painful thing to admit. None of their dalliances in the past had ever been serious enough for Duro to take that step back. It meant something, to cede position to another. This was as close to admitting Nasir took place as his law-brother that Duro could come. Even if Agron did not fulfill the promise his actions implied with Nasir, Duro would give him the respect of the espoused position.

After the first round of greetings was made and Nasir left to exchange words with Spartacus, Duro joined them.

“You wait too long to approach, brother,” Agron said in their tongue. 

He introduced him to many faces and names. Sedullus and Nemetes he had already heard. Lugo was the loud one. Saxa, a young woman who looked ready to take them all. There were others, names and faces blurred together and lost as they spoke of Germania. A few vague ramblings came of their home but it was far too south and close to the Rhine for any to have real knowledge. This group largely came from the Northern Lands.

“How did they get captured? Rome does not stray that far.”

“A raid among the Gauls. I would not be surprised if those fucking shits sold them out to the Romans in exchange for their own lives.” Agron happily punched Duro in the arm. “We have fighting men and women once again, Duro. It shall see us to victory. Or at least a harder and longer fight to the death.”

Duro lifted his head in time to see the distrustful looks thrown their way from just about every single rebel who was not a German. It was enough to make Duro want to slam his head into the temple walls. He never wanted to be a politician, diplomat, or a statesman. It seemed the gods had a much different plan. 

 

***************************

 

“Duro, awake,” Agron said shaking his shoulder. 

Duro shook his head and opened one eye to peer at Agron. The sky was still dark.

“Have you lost fucking mind,” he hissed.

“Clearly,” Elill said. He rolled away from Duro’s side bringing the warm weight of his hair with him.

“No, stay,” Duro said, reaching out to pull him back. He had no warm blanket and Elill’s hair was the closest he could come.

“Duro, awake, we hunt,” Agron said.

Duro batted his hand away. “You hunt. I sleep.”

Agron laughed. “Do you not wish to join us?”

“Agron, I wish to fucking sleep while I still can.”

“You will get nowhere in life in you insist on living on your back.”

“Oh, it’s gotten me quite far in life,” Elill muttered.

Duro kicked him. “Too early for such words,” he said. He grabbed Agron’s hand before he could poke him again. “I was up all night tending wounds of the Germans while you slept at Nasir’s side. Do me a kindness brother and let me rest until after the sun appears.”

“I will hunt a boar for you. Proper meat may change your mind,” Agron teased.

Duro was too tired to argue. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

“Did they remember to wake Spartacus?” Iodocus asked.

“Of course they did,” Duro said. “My brother is not that fucking stupid.”

 

***************************

 

His brother was that fucking stupid. Between Spartacus’ obvious distrust of the Germans, his continuing distrust of Elill, and his new distrust of Agron’s motives, the temple was far from a peaceful place. Duro was growing weary of all complaints beginning and ending with Spartacus’ name. The Germans’ arrival had also caused the Gauls to make more than a few pointed remarks towards the two Syrians in the camp.

Duro was waiting for Elill’s calm demeanor to break. It was coming soon, with the way the rebel leaders spoke of him. There was a commotion off the healing room in the temple, and ah, there it was. 

“Did it ever occur to any of you ignorant fucks that all the Syrians you’ve met were treacherous for a reason? That it is the only way they saw to advance in a world where, even among slaves, they are belittled? So you’ve met one dishonorable man and you condemn his whole country? Clearly the gods skipped the coast from Gallia through Greece when they were passing out sense.”

Elill stormed out of the room and right into Duro’s path.

Duro tilted his head. “I see you’re bonding with the Bringer of Rain.”

“Bringer of Shit is more plausible,” Elill yelled down the hall. “How Nasir can stand to live among these bastards.”

“To them, Nasir has proved his loyalty. That and my brother has a temper. Nasir has a temper as well from what I’ve heard. Honestly, I pity the stupid fuck who thinks to insult either or both of them.”

“Aside from you.”

“I have special privileges.”

Elill threw his hands up in disgust. “I do not understand your leader. Now he distrusts your brother who has done nothing but served at his side.”

“You defend my brother now for your own purpose.” Duro laughed. “I suppose that is a better than no defense at all.”

“Will you please just go in there and explain to that stubborn jackass that a hunting party is not an act of treason.”

Duro held Elill’s face in his hands and tried to calm him down. To say a fire was burning in his eyes was an understatement. An inferno rested there.

“I would ask you to be calm,” he softly said. “I think you are better suited to the sands right now. Exchange your robes for training cloths and meet Oenomaus. It would do you well to work a circuit or two.” 

Elill took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was more himself though his whole body was still tense and full of anger. The small smile on his lips was worth it though. Those smiles always meant more to Duro than the large ones meant to encourage desire. These were the private, quiet smiles of the real Elill.

“Go on,” he urged. “You know you want to take up sword and purposefully hit some of those fools.”

“I will not deny such truth.”

“Go,” Duro said as he stepped away. 

Elill grabbed his wrist before he could leave.

“Gratitude,” he said.

“For what?”

“For reminding me of who I really am as opposed to what others say I must be.” 

He found Spartacus getting a small wound on his hand tended. His jaw was clenched and Duro knew it wasn’t in pain but anger.

“Good, you are captive for a moment so we can speak,” Duro said.

Spartacus looked up. “We have not had time to exchange many words in private.”

“You are a busy man.”

“If you are here for your brother’s defense—”

“He led a hunting party without you and attacked a wine cart which can obviously draw Roman attention to these woods. I understand reason for concern. I would also ask you to see from his side.”

“Which is?”

“You believe the concerns of Lucius and Crixus over Agron’s own actions.”

“He has lied to me before, as I told Nasir when he came to with similar concerns.”

“Nasir loves my brother and I’m sure will defend him until he loses voice. He does not, however, have twenty-three years of knowledge and a shared cultural background to understand his actions. We are a people who follow the heads of our clan, Spartacus.”

“And that is to have meaning to me?”

Duro pinched his brow. He was not meant for such talks. He could not be diplomatic, not when an insult and a flying fist would solve problems much faster.

“Spartacus, Agron was bred to be a leader of our village.”

“And so he takes that role now.”

“No, he does not. He never would. It would be an insult to the Chieftain, the leader, you. He is doing what he thinks is right as a Second. He is making small decisions without consulting you because gods know you have enough fucking problems.”

“Yet he causes me more.”

“Does he? Or do the words from those who have never trusted or liked him cause concern? I was not there so I do not know more than the gossip. Is it not true that the _only_ reason the Gauls followed you was because of Crixus? Did Crixus not make it obvious the Gauls were _his_ men and not _yours_?”

“Those were different times. Crixus and I held different purposes.”

“If Crixus decided to leave though, for whatever reason, would the Gauls not follow him?”

“Some might, not all.”

Duro nodded. “So, as a leader, would you rather have a ship full of fighters who would in all likelihood find loyalty with Crixus, a ship full of Syrians who, well, you barely accept one in this camp and spend the rest of the time insulting the other, or a ship full of Germans when Donar and Agron have been nothing but loyal to you and your cause?”

Spartacus raised his head. “They were not loyal when it came to Naevia.”

“Naevia was not your cause and not the reason they agreed to rebel.”

“He had no right to withhold such information from me.”

“And you have no right to doubt his loyalty. I know you cannot understand German. I will teach you a few words of our own Common Tongue if you like but each time the question arises he always insists that he follows you, that he is one of your men. The Germans only need to see you are a great warrior worthy of being followed. They need to see the cause for why Agron holds you in such respect and high esteem. If you are wise, you will pull head out of ass before he is forced to reconsider such notions.”

Spartacus stood up and leaned over Duro. “Is that a threat?”

“I know of all the formerly-dead brothers you wished to see returned, I am the last on your list. I am no great fighter, as you know. You were the one who encouraged my brother to stand apart from me, seeing the stronger of us, I presume. There are different kinds of strength, Spartacus, and I will not let my brother be led to his death by a man who refuses to respect and appreciate his loyalty. You can see it as a threat if you like or you can take it as the warning it is intended to be. You have been betrayed in the past, I understand the need for caution. If you insist on continuing down this path though, you _will_ stand alone.”

Spartacus almost looked hurt at the words. The anger was starting to bleed from his eyes. “I do not wish you still dead, Duro.”

Duro smirked. “At least not to my face. I know I am not half the fighter my brother is in terms of physical power but he loses his head on the battlefield when the bloodlust takes over. Some of us are wolves, like Agron. Some of us are foxes, like me.”

“You just compared yourself to something that dogs hunt,” Spartacus said.

Duro laughed. “Remind me to stay away from Nasir’s ire then.” He grasped Spartacus’ shoulder. “You are trusted brother. Agron has and will risk all for you. I would not see that broken over a few suspicious and poisoned words from those with their own motivations.”

Spartacus nodded. “Your brother is not wholly innocent in these accusations.”

“He never is,” Duro agreed. “None of us are.”

 

**********************

The rest of the day passed with the smell of cooking meat and the passing around of wine. It was a pleasant respite from the normal schedule of refortifying the temple and training on the sands. The sheer amount of wine certinaly helped ease any harsh words as day become night. 

“Wine makes fools of us all,” Iodocus intoned as he stood at Elill’s side.

“It is a good thing to have,” Duro argued. “It helps to ease conversation in times of joy.” 

“It helps to lower inhibitions,” Elill said as he looked out around them. 

More than a few were enjoying the food, fire, and wine. Duro wondered if it was proper to have Iodocus out here as the night grew but Elill hadn’t ordered him inside yet, not even when Saxa threw Nemetses to the ground. 

Elill rested his chin on Duro’s shoulder. “I know your concerns. Iodocus has seen far worse. He helped assist in the rituals this past April. Trust me when I say the things we consume and the herbs we burn in the air during those times cause more wild action than any witnessed here.”

“My people are wild without wine in their blood. You may well see something alike your rituals here tonight.”

They both turned to where Iodocus moved towards Agron in order to watch the wrestling fights in the center of the sands. Agron patted his head and leaned down to explain the purpose. It wasn’t really fighting, just a show of Sedullus’ strength as he took on them all. Iodocus then drifted over to Lydon, then Donar’s side, before settling next to Camilla. It left a warm feeling in Duro’s stomach to see him so comfortable with the others. 

“Do you two desire more wine?” Nasir asked. He grinned at them and held out a skin.

Elill shook his head. “I am set for the night. I do not desire a headache from drink come the morn.”

Duro nodded. “I promised to rise early and train with Oenomaus. I know well how he punishes those who overindulge. Gratitude for the offer, Nasir. Share it with one who would appreciate it.” He pointed to Agron. “Your place is at his side. Maybe you can encourage him to take a round with Sedullus. It has been too long since I’ve seen his face smashed into the dirt.”

“You are a horrible brother,” Elill said.

“I merely respect the fact that we must all be reminded of our mortal states.”

Elill and Nasir both laughed at his words. Elill stepped away from Duro’s arms leaving him cold.

“I will seek a cup of water. If any cups can still be found among this lot,” he said. He patted Nasir’s shoulder as he left. “Keep an eye on them for me.”

“Of course,” Nasir agreed. He looked up at Duro with mischief in his eyes.

“What?” Duro asked. 

“You have no need to hide your lover’s claim here.”

“We are not,” Duro said.

“You share your bedroll.”

“For warmth,” Duro said.

“You are in each other’s presence constantly.”

“So many have been welcoming of Elill, haven’t they?"

Nasir shook his head. “There is rarely space between you two.”

“My people are tactile people.”

“I could have just described myself with Agron.”

Duro frowned. “I would hope you two do more than braid hair and massage weary muscles.”

Nasir looked like he wanted to slap Duro but didn’t know if he was allowed the privilege. He was, not that Duro would let him know that yet. 

“You are in love with him,” Nasir declared.

Duro had never said the words, never allowed himself to entertain the thought even though he knew it to be truth. If he didn’t give voice, he could not feel disappointment when his suit was rejected. Elill deserved the right of choice and Duro knew, once the others in the camp came to know and respect him, that Duro would be far from the only one interested. 

Something of his doubt must have shown because Nasir did slap him. Hard. 

“Do not be such a fucking idiot, brother,” he hissed.

Duro patted his head and checked to make sure there was no blood. Wild little dog, indeed. 

“Elill, like myself, has had little _choice_ in matter of body or heart. He’s been commanded when to fuck, when to come, when to kiss. He knows not _how_ to initiate a romantic or a sexual relationship between two willing people. You must clear the path, Duro.”

“He has sought it before, with others from the temple.”

“A matter of circumstance is not a matter of heart,” Nasir insisted.

“I have never pursued more than a fuck with other men. Not that there weren’t urges, but one of us needed to marry. Agron was always inclined towards men and Gerlind still a child when we were captured.”

Nasir patted his hand. “Pursuing love is all the same. Elill may require a little more finesse and caution since he knows who you truly are. One of your smiles won’t get him into your bed.”

“Perhaps I should follow my brother’s path,” Duro growled. For fuck’s sake his ears were ringing. 

Nasir laughed. “By all means. I never knew your desire for castration was so near. Elill still identifies strongly with our homeland. Please, go and tell him how our people are all treacherous fucks while plying him with drink. I crave to see the outcome.”

Duro felt his jaw drop. “My brother did that?”

Nasir nodded. “I am to understand he was not in his right mind.”

Somewhere between Capua and here, Agron had obviously lost his whole mind. Duro didn’t want to think of the cause, he was just glad to find that sanity returned with each day. 

Elill returned then, bearing cups of water for them both.

“What did I miss?” he asked as Sedullus and Lugo battled.

“Nothing but a quick discussion,” Nasir said. He gave Duro a pointed look. “I leave to seek more pleasant company.”

“Surely my brother will offer a hand and mouth in assistance,” Duro called after him.

“Oh gods,” Elill groaned as he leaned into Duro’s shoulder, “what have I done to be cursed with your tongue.”

“That’s what prayer and devotion will get you,” he said.

Elill stood up straight. “Is your brother about to get his ass handed to him?”

“What?” Duro asked as he surged forward.

Sure enough, Sedullus offered a hand to Agron and pulled him to the sands. Duro cackled to himself. Oh, this would be good. Of course Lugo then passed, drunkenly singing and headed towards Oenomaus.

“I know not what I want to watch more.”

“Stand to the side and let us keep turning our heads,” Elill suggested.

“A wise decision,” Duro agreed. 

They both moved and sat down beside Camilla and Iodocus. Iodocus curled up into Elill’s and yawned as he rested his head on Elill’s chest.

“Do you wish to sleep?” Duro asked.

“Not yet,” Iodocus insisted. 

The night went on in the same manner. All grew louder as more wine passed around. Spartacus and Oenomaus had gone into hiding. Duro could blame none of them. Nasir sat with them now, all in a pleasant sort of haze when Agron left to find more drink. 

Duro came wide awake as Sedullus threw Agron down the steps. This was not sport.

“What the fuck,” he yelled, flying upwards.

He knew Nasir, Elill, and Camilla were with him but he cared not. All he could see was his brother’s head repeatedly landing on the stone. Crixus entered the fray before Duro could. Best to leave the both of them to it.

“Agron,” Duro yelled, cradling his head. There was blood pouring from his nose and lips. 

“I am well, I am well,” he yelled. He shook his head and leaned to the side.

Elill crouched down next to them. “Let me see his eyes,” he insisted.

“Agron, you must stay still,” Duro said as he struggled with Agron’s limbs. “Let Elill look at you.”

“Sedullus, he tried to attack Naevia,” Agron mumbled.

“Crixus sees to the matter,” Elill said. He studied Agron’s eyes. “The pupils are not blown. It is a good enough sign.”

There was a loud hiss behind them and Duro turned just in time to see the start of a massive brawl. He grabbed Elill’s arm. “Go find Iodocus, I will stay with Agron.”

“Are you certain?”

Duro nodded. “If my side must be stitched up again, I fully expect my usual regiment of care.”

“I shall open the lavender oil just for you,” Elill muttered as he ran through the crowd and into the temple. 

“The boy?” Agron asked. 

“Elill goes to find him,” Duro said.

Agron made to stand and Duro helped him. He grinned in pride as his eyes found Nasir holding his own in a fight.

“Your priorities, brother, are, as always, fucked.” 

Agron propped himself against one of the columns. “Watch him for me while I gather myself.”

Duro had no desire to leave Agron’s side but he did not wish for his brother to be distracted either. Nothing in a brawl such as this could be predicted. He moved to cover Nasir, just in case, and gave a sigh of fucking relief when he saw Spartacus, Oenomaus, Elill and Iodocus appear on the steps. 

It was a short-lived relief. One moment he was distracted by Spartacus throwing a man through the flames and the next he found Sedullus standing over Agron, a sword poised to kill.

“Agron, roll out of the way, you stupid fuck,” he yelled in German at the same time Mira called for Spartacus. 

Before either of them could reach Agron, Spartacus was engaged in the fight, sword meeting sword, once, twice. Then sword met face and the whole camp came to a halt.

Spartacus had sliced Sedullus’ face clean off. 

They all stood stock still as body, blood, and brain matter fell to the sands. 

“That’s a convincing argument for loyalty,” Duro muttered to himself.

“You are such a stupid shit,” Lydon answered from his side. 

“Some things are constant,” Duro agreed. 

Spartacus words demanded an oath of loyalty as he ordered all the Germans to either fall in line, leave, or meet the fate of Sedullus. None immediately reacted and Duro knew, in the absence of Sedullus’, they looked for their own leader. Even if some could not understand the words being yelled, the looks and actions spokes for themselves.

Agron swore his allegiance to Spartacus in front of them all and while that would be enough for the Rebels, it would not sit with the Germans. Agron and Duro were Outsiders even among their kin now. 

Lugo stepped forward then, a determined look on his face as he grabbed shield and sword. 

“What does the stupid fuck do,” Lydon hissed.

Duro gasped. He had not witnessed a true oath of fealty since he was a boy. 

“He honors Spartacus in a way you cannot understand,” he said. 

Agron and Duro had never openly declared their allegiance to Spartacus, not in a way their people would understand. It never bothered Duro until he witnessed it now. The pounding of fist to chest and sword to shield in honor. It was the right time, finally, and Duro pounded his own chest with the others. 

When the moment broke, Duro slung an arm around Nasir’s shoulders.

“Let us get you and Agron to the healer.”

“There are those with worst wounds, I am sure,” Nasir said.

“Ah, but they can line up with the medicus. You can go and seek your own personal Syrian care with Elill who will probably be gentler with you than he will Agron or Oenomaus.”

“Why would he do that?”

Duro patted Nasir’s chest. “You remind him of a past he’s never forgotten.”

He left Nasir and Agron on their own when they reached the steps. He would give them privacy for now.

“See us before you bed down and reaffirm the joys of living,” Duro said.

Agron glared at him while Nasir grinned in agreement.

“Don’t overstrain yourself tonight, Agron. You took far too many blows to the head,” he said in parting words of caution. 

Duro laughed and ducked out of the way before his brother could reach him. He stumbled into Elill’s side and grasped Iodocus’ chin.

“Did you alert Spartacus and Oenomaus when the fighting started?”

“I did,” he said. “I know better than to brawl with those who stand three times my size.” 

“More intelligence can be found in your youthful mind than many here possess,” Duro praised.

“Yourself obviously included among the lot,” Elill said. He pressed on Duro’s side and nodded happily when the skin did not give way. 

“I still stand and there is no blood on me. I observed the fight, that is all.”

“And made teasing and inappropriate remarks when a body lies behind you.”

Duro glanced to Sedullus’ corpse behind him. His lips curled as he thought of all the dishonor the man held. 

“So is the way of my people,” he said. 

Elill grimaced. “Come, let us aid the healers. I will see to the rites of his body after that.”

“Do not bother,” Duro said.

“All deserve it, Duro,” Elill said.

“Our ways are not like yours,” Duro said. “He does not deserve your prayers and none would expect them.”

Elill grasped Duro’s hand and led him inside. “He may not deserve them but I deserve to give them. They are not just for him.” 

Duro stopped and looked up into Elill’s face. “And will you give your prayers to me when I am gone?”

Elill’s eyes flashed. “I will be far too busy slicing open the gut of the one who dares to take you from this world.” 

“Ew,” Iodocus said, breaking the tension. 

Duro never laughed so hard after witnessing a death as he did in that moment.


	7. Six

Duro thought he was being very fucking well-behaved and patient as he sat next to Nasir. They were enduring the pokes, prods, and looks of the two healers, Oenomaus, and Elill. Duro wasn’t pleased with everyone talking over him and was about one more moment away from kicking something. At least Nasir was suffering in silence as well.

He looked over at Nasir’s scar. He hadn’t seen it uncovered yet. It was obviously burned shut and then recut before being sewn. Duro’s was much cleaner in comparison. Perhaps there was something to be said for the skills of a professional surgeon. 

“He is able to stand without shaking now,” Oenomaus said as they addressed Duro alone.

“His side hasn’t caused him pain in days. He even sleeps on it now,” Elill said. 

“Agron has said similar about Nasir. They’ve both helped dig the tunnels as well and survived without fainting,” Oenomaus said. “I think they are ready to take to training again. We certainly cannot afford longer delay.”

“Thank the fucking gods,” Duro cursed. 

“And if Duro still finds himself incapable of keeping his feet in a fight, we can hand him over to Lucius to learn the bow,” Oenomaus said.

“I fucking know how to use a bow,” Duro said while rolling his eyes in disgust. “I am a German and know how to hunt.”

“Your brother seems to think the best way to hunt is with spear,” Nasir said.

“Which is why Agron always caught boar and not deer,” Duro said. He patted Nasir’s shoulder. “He is not the subtle type.”

Nasir laughed. “Really? Never would have occurred to me.”

“Enough,” Oenomaus said. “Change for training. I will not tolerate tardiness.”

“As you never have,” Duro agreed. 

Elill trailed after him as he walked to the training ground. He had no need to change and hair too short to pull back. He did grab a roll of bandages. There would be splinters and callouses to come at the end of this. 

“If Oenomaus does not pair Nasir and I, please help hold my brother back. He does not take well to seeing me injured.”

“Unless he is the one to do it?” Elill asked.

Duro laughed. “He is an exception.”

Elill stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “Duro, are you certain? Are you doing this to prove something?”

Duro patted Elill’s cheek. “It could be argued that I have much to prove. My brother cannot spare time to worry about me in the fight when his attention must fall elsewhere. He will have far too many distractions between Spartacus, Nasir, me, and all others he holds dear. Too much time has been wasted already for my training.”

Elill took a deep breath as if he was preparing a speech. “I do not feel this will go well.”

Duro patted Elill’s cheek again. “Aside from working out some frustrations, my brother will not hurt me. Well, not in any degree that will require concern.”

Agron waited for them on the steps.

“Nasir?” he asked.

Duro bumped into his side. “Worry not, he follows. Oenomaus ordered us to prepare ourselves.”

“And you already look like you’ve rolled in the dirt,” Agron said. He dusted off a smudge on Duro’s shoulder. “A familiar look on you.”

He reached a hand up to shake some of the sand out of Agron’s hair. “I am not the only one.”

“Iodocus is a spirited fighter,” Agron said. “Though he leaps like a rabbit.”

Elill covered a small laugh. They both knew where Iodocus had learned such a trick.

“Hopefully such tricks will save his life,” Nasir said as he finally joined them. 

He still wore a short vest though the bandage was finally removed. Duro stood back, letting him and Agron have their private moment. Nothing was said, though Agron’s hand hovered over Nasir’s side. He wondered when they learned this, a whole conversation without words, or if it had always been such.

Iodocus came running up to them. He looked overjoyed and unharmed. A little bruised as to be expected. He held his hands out to Elill. “I am told the bleeding and blisters are normal.”

Elill took his hands and examined them. “You have known much different work. Still, we will treat this so it does not become too painful until you adjust. Perhaps we can find scraps to fashion gloves for you. It may take a few tries. I will not have your grip lessened or skill impeded for a bit of comfort.”

“You know how to make gloves?” Duro asked.

“I am no craftsman but they I know well enough. All the Corybantes were required to learn the working of leather and cloth. Keeps the cost of the temple down.”

“Agron, Duro, first position,” Oenomaus called as he emerged.

A cheer rang out among the Germans as Nemetes translated the order.

Duro turned to Oenomaus in disbelief. Or confusion. Perhaps both. It didn’t seem fair to pair Agron, already the better fighter and now with many months of battle experience, against Duro whose last battled involved chasing a rat away from the grain. And the rat won that one too.

“You would have us fight each other,” he said.

Agron laughed. “Is this jest?”

Duro nodded in agreement. “Or do you wish to relive the past?”

Oenomaus tilted his head. “I do not think any here would welcome Agron’s reaction to others fighting with you.”

“They would not,” Crixus growled as he touched his chin. 

The other gladiators laughed as they all recalled those times in the past. Even after Agron followed Spartacus’ advice to force Duro to stand on his own, there were still incidents. Agron retaliated for any perceived slight in training then; Duro couldn’t imagine the consequences now.

Elill gripped his shoulder. “Duro, this unsettles me.” He passed a looked to Agron. “Greatly.”

Duro smiled and touched Elill’s arm. He was glad to see his hands were perfectly steady. He didn’t fear Agron but the last time he took up a sword with purpose he nearly died. It would cause anyone to pause.

“I can guarantee this fight will have a better outcome than Duro’s last,” Agron said. 

Nasir smiled in agreement though there was a hint of worry in his eyes. Duro exchanged a nod with him. 

“Such sad faces,” Donar teased. “Syrians worry too much. No wonder Ashur was such a treacherous fuck. It was the only joy he could find among this lot.”

Duro and Agron both laughed when Elill and Nasir glared at him. 

“Agron, Duro, must I drag you down here,” Oenomaus said.

“No, Doctore,” they answered in unison. 

They both took the roughly hewn wooden swords Lydon held out. Duro shared a smile with him, remembering all the times he had done such in the ludus. A few unfamiliar faces called out bets and Duro was suddenly very grateful Spartacus was hunting and not here to be reminded of Varro. Agron exchanged a sad nod with him and he knew his brother felt the same. 

“Take position,” Oenomaus called.

“We should have words, brother,” Duro said. His body almost worked absent of his brain as it took to remembered form. 

“Now?” Agron asked as they circled around.

“What better time to have each other’s attention? None will listen to our words now. They’ll just assume we disparage each other’s pedigree. Such as, clearly we are half-siblings because your father was obviously a goat.”

Agron lunged forward and caught Duro on the side before Duro pushed forward to hit him high on the ribs.

“Disparage?” Agron asked.

“Iodocus seeks to improve my language. He says the only man worthy of Elill is an eloquent one.”

“There is no hope for you then,” Agron said as he easily landed another blow. 

Duro was pleased to see that even with all the fighting and training in his absence, Agron still clung to his old tells. One shifted foot and twitched shoulder later and Duro easily had him on the sands.

“How the fuck do you do that every single time,” Agron roared.

Duro’s laughter was cut-short when Agron swept his feet out from under him. 

“You wished to have words,” Agron taunted.

“I did,” he said with a grin. He kneed Agron low on the stomach and escaped when Agron moved to block the hit. “I saw you teaching Iodocus the other day.”

“He is smart boy,” Agron agreed as he lunged forward again. “Clever too.”

They both ended up in neck holds. Agron was assumed the advantage, due to his height and build, but Duro had access to more vulnerable areas. Oenomaus explained as much to those who watched them.

“And he was taught by Elill, a man you still degrade by calling him a _fucking Syrian_. He does not deserve your hatred, brother.” 

He head butted Agron and forced them out of the lock. When he looked up, both Nasir and Elill looked ready to march down to the sands and sort them out. Agron easily used the distraction to tackle Duro to the ground.

“He has yet to prove he can be trusted. I give respect to no man without reason,” Agron growled. 

His forearm rested over Duro’s throat making it difficult to breathe. Duro forced Agron’s elbow up and while that made it just as difficult to breathe, at least he could speak. 

“Am I not proof enough?”

“You are foolish,” Agron spat as he eased his hold.

“And you are ill-tempered, foul-mouthed, and over-eager to prove yourself to men who little appreciate what you do and suspect every one of your actions.” He tilted his head. “In fact, it seems you and Elill have quite a lot in common.”

“He does not seem foul-mouthed,” Agron said.

“He called Spartacus _Bringer of Shit_ to his face. He also curses in at least three different tongues when truly angered.”

Agron smiled. “And how often have you been the cause of such?”

There was pride in Agron’s voice and Duro answered with the same. “At least two hundred times.”

It felt good, almost like their youth, when their biggest concerns were getting the goats out of the trees. Even though they stood now with a crowd around them and Oenomaus telling them that conversation was for more opportune times, this felt familiar. Duro had missed this and only now did he realize how much. 

Duro laughed as he slipped out from his brother’s hold only to be tackled again. He went limp for only a moment, waiting for Agron to panic, before elbowing him in the side and rolling over to his sword. This couldn’t last much longer, Duro was already feeling the strain of too much activity, but he would not go down without a few more hits. 

“Enough,” Oenomaus yelled. “Good show on your part, Duro. Agron, respect your brother and fight him with your true strength next time.”

“I am perfectly fine with keeping my blood on the inside of my body today,” Duro said.

Agron slapped his shoulder but the smile he gave meant he felt the same. This was how they really talked, not so much with words. He followed Agron’s gaze to the stairs. Elill stood there, barely held back by Iodocus and Nasir. Duro winced. He had a long lecture in his future. Agron slapped his shoulder again and Duro turned around. Agron nodded in approval. 

“You truly care for his opinion,” Agron said. “Not only care, but respect it. You’ve never done that for anyone else except family.”

Duro shrugged. “To be fair I also care for Iodocus’ opinion. And Oenomaus’ and Nasir’s now.”

“You would hate to disappointment them, yes. With Elill, you would rather slit your own throat than do it. It’s why you too held back in this fight.”

“You two have both seen enough of my blood these past few months. Let us have this day end in nothing but bruises and scrapes.”

Oenomaus called for Lugo and Harudes to come forward. Duro wrapped his arm around Agron’s shoulders as they walked up the stairs together.

“I yet live,” Duro said to Elill.

“For now,” Elill said. “Not for much longer if you refuse to learn how to defend instead of attack.”

Agron’s laugh was strangled. “Brother, let us see you to the healers just in case.”

“I will go with him,” Nasir said. “With Spartacus and Mira gone there should be one of the leaders present for observation and support.”

“Oenomaus and Crixus are both here,” Agron argued.

“Oenomaus is too busy teaching and Crixus will focus on Naevia once they take to the sands,” Nasir said. 

Agron didn’t look at all happy about it. He agreed though as Crixus and Naevia and Lydon and Rabanus took their positions. “You will take care of him?” he asked looking towards Elill.

“As well as you would,” Elill muttered. 

Agron looked pleased by that and Duro didn’t have the heart to tell him that it wasn’t a compliment. He’d have to ask Elill to be more outwardly civil. Someone had to act like the sensible adult. It certainly wouldn’t be Duro and Nasir had enough to handle. Worries for another time when Duro’s head wasn’t throbbing. 

They were halfway under the complete part of the roof when the gates opened and Agron greeted it with a well-timed _Fuck the Gods_.

Duro turned to see fucking Ilithyia, the wife of Praetor Glaber, being led, blind-folded, by Spartacus.

“That’s the fucking praetor’s wife,” Elill hissed. 

“Slicing a man’s face off one day, the Praetor’s wife arriving another, I wonder what shall happen next,” Iodocus said as he rolled his eyes.

“Iodocus,” Duro chastised while laughing.

“Come,” Elill said. “I do not like the tension in the air now. I will not have Iodocus witness it if they try to tear her limb-from-limb.”

Lucius ran past them.

“There goes the voice of reason,” Duro said.

“All the same, let us go before you faint,” Elill said.

Duro would’ve argued if he wasn’t already seeing spots in front of his eyes. He could use a jug of water and a long nap. He curled into Elill, eager to take some of his strength. He was surprised to find Nasir on his other side, taking as much weight as Elill.

He was grateful that the healer’s rooms weren’t too deep into the temple. He eagerly sat down and took the chance to rest. 

Duro’s side was sore and there was a stinging cut above his eye. He swore there was still sand in it even as Elill carefully cleaned it.

“Stop flinching,” Elill ordered.

“It hurts,” Duro muttered much to the amusement of the others. 

“You complain more over this scrape than the huge cut that was in your side,” Iodocus said.

“It didn’t sting,” Duro said. He tapped his toes on the ground and grit his teeth when Elill applied an oil that made it sting worse. “I can’t stand it.”

“It will go numb soon,” Elill promised. He handed an empty jug to Iodocus. “Go fill that with clean water from the well.”

Duro wondered at the power that caused Iodocus to follow all of Elill’s commands without protest. 

Elill waited until the sound of Iodocus’ footsteps faded before turning on him. He pressed down on Duro’s side with force.

“Fuck the fucking gods what the fuck are you doing!” Duro yelled.

“The family resemblance reveals itself,” Nasir said. 

Elill pressed again and nodded. “Just sore then, not broken. You let Agron score many hits in the same spot.”

“I _let_ him do nothing. I’ve never defended my sides well.”

“Clearly,” Elill said as he reached for one of his clay pots of ointment. He slathered a healthy amount over Duro’s scar. “It’s an obvious weakness. Let us hope Oenomaus has time enough to correct it.”

“I am starting to see you spent more time at the Games than I realized.”

Elill did not look amused. “I know how to read the movements of a body better than anyone here, save Oenomaus. To be fair though, there is little to do in Capua outside of the arena.”

“I thought there would be more to the city,” Nasir said.

“The only thing worshipped more than the gladiators in Capua is coin,” Elill explained. He then took Duro’s hands and examined the fingers and wrists.

“I would tell you if something was broken,” Duro said.

“Pardon me if I believe that is complete bullshit,” Elill said. He finally stood back and nodded in satisfaction. “Clean up with the water Iodocus will bring. Get some rest. I will wake you for the mid-day meal.” 

“I am not overly tired. I just need a quick rest.” Duro argued.

Elill smirked. “You will sleep deeply once the healing ointment on your scar settles in.” 

 

***********************

 

Duro was still half-asleep when Iodocus dragged him out to the front of the temple.

“You missed the meal. Agron saved you some. You must come now, though. Oenomaus said Nasir and Elill will take the sands next,” he explained as they left darkened halls for daylight.

Iodocus deposited him next to Rabanus before going off to find Agron and the food.

“The boy has control over you,” Rabanus said.

Duro gladly took the cup of water he held. “It seems part of the training for worshiping Magna Mater requires a need to have compliance of all. I’ve learned to stop fighting it.”

Iodocus returned with Agron and Mira. All three of them snacked off Duro’s meal while they watched Camilla and Sigihild fight. 

“My money’s on Camilla,” Rabanus said.

Agron made a face. “Sigihild will win.”

Duro exchanged a glance with Mira who silently laughed with him. “How is Spartacus?”

Mira looked resigned. “As well as can be expected seeing that woman again. He consults with Lucius over our next action.”

“She has seen where we hide. Is her death not guaranteed?”

Mira shrugged. “There is the life of the child to consider. It gives Spartacus pause.”

For a man who never had a child with his own wife, Duro could understand. The fact the Praetor’s wife was cunning and vicious as a hidden snake also needed to be taken into consideration. 

“Gannicus brought her here for Spartacus to kill,” Mira explained. “A life for a life to end the rebellion.”

Duro scoffed as he ripped off a piece of bread. “That is an exquisitely quick and simple solution to something that is overly complicated. One woman’s death for one man’s revenge will not quell a rebellion.”

“Something Gannicus fails to grasp,” Mira agreed.

“Will you two stop clucking,” Rabanus said. “The Syrians are to fight next.” 

Duro sat up to get a better look. He’d seen the stylized war dances of Elill’s but he’d yet to see him actually fight. He rested his chin on Agron’s shoulder to soothe the sudden tension in Agron’s back.

“You worry, brother? Nasir has fought in many battles until that blow took him down,” he said.

Agron nodded. “I was not there when he received that blow. What happens if I am not there again?”

“You trust him to save his own hide. He can only benefit from the skills of Oenomaus.”

“Nasir, Elill, come forward,” Oenomaus ordered.

Nasir appeared from behind Oenomaus, already divested of his coat. Agron hissed as he saw Nasir’s scar completely uncovered again.

Duro patted Agron’s shoulder. “It is completely healed,” he assured.

“I have unwrapped and rewrapped that wound. I have cleaned it and watched it heal.” Agron had a white knuckled grip on Duro’s hand. “He should’ve died.”

“He did not,” Duro whispered. “We did not.”

Elill came out next. He dropped his robes on the stairs next to Aquilina and the temple ground was filled with whistles.

“Vultures,” Duro yelled at them.

Everyone, Elill included, laughed. 

“I did not expect such a body under those clothes,” Mira teased. 

“He is a dancer,” Iodocus said. “How did you expect him to look?”

Mira seemed lost in the face of an eleven-year-old’s inquisitiveness. Duro decided to do the kind thing and save her.

“It was a compliment,” Duro said. “She means Elill is of a very fine form.”

“Very,” Mira agreed. 

On the sands Oenomaus looked between the two men.

“Nasir, let us see if my teachings passed down well. Elill, I doubt you remember little of what Auctus taught you.”

“At least not in terms of fighting,” he agreed with a cheeky smile.

Duro saw Oenomaus’ lips quirk and he wondered again at the history there. It made him miss the nights where he did nothing but drowse in Elill’s bed as that musical voice told him stories of the wider world. 

Lydon handed them both the dull training swords and backed away as Oenomaus ordered them to begin. It was a rush of movement, swords and hair flying with maddeningly quick steps. Nasir appeared just as nimble on his feet as Elill, though not as agile. His confusion was understandable as Elill dodged one of Nasir’s thrusts by flipping out of the way.

“Elill,” Oenomaus chastised. 

“I must use the few advantages I have,” Elill argued as he met each of Nasir’s blows. “Nasir has had more practical experience than many who now stand among us.”

“Such a move leaves you exposed,” Oenomaus said.

“And affords me precious movements of confusion due to the surprise,” Elill said.

“Is he _actually_ arguing with Oenomaus?” Rabanus asked.

“I suppose that’s what happens when the leader of the Corybantes meets a trainer of gladiators,” Duro said. 

Elill did follow Oenomaus’ commands for the most part. He took the advantages when he could. The pace of the fight was still faster than normal. There was a loud cheer as Nasir knocked Elill on his ass. 

“It seems you win this round,” Elill admitted. 

Nasir laughed and held his hand out. It was a mistake; one Elill took advantage of, easily pulling Nasir down to the sands with him.

It was a marvel to see Elill out here, absent the familiar kohl around his eyes and the perfume in his hair. Duro hoped to see him like this more often; a hint of the true Elill that only revealed itself in those quiet moments. 

Elill and Nasir were both upright again and exchanging quick spinning blows for blow. Nasir’s arms trembled on that last deflection and Duro felt Agron prepare to jump up.

“Stay,” Duro ordered. “You must stay put for him like you once did for me. At least Elill will not continually bash him in the face with a shield.”

“And now, just as then, I must fight my instinct to help,” Agron said. “Nasir is favoring one foot over the other. I think he has sprained something.”

From the ducking of Elill’s head and Oenomaus’ look, they had also caught that action. Oenomaus stepped in then. 

“Nasir, you have benefitted well from your teachers. Elill, let us see if you remember how to dance with knives,” Oenomaus said. 

Nasir and Elill grasped each other’s forearms in a show of solidarity before Nasir took both of their swords. Agron was off the stairs so fast, Duro almost landed on his face. 

Oenomaus stood with four unfinished arrows. “Not quite the daggers we need, but they shall work,” he said.

Elill nodded in agreement. His hair was plastered to his back and Duro was distracted by the sweat which beaded his skin. 

“You and your brothers have similar taste in companions,” Mira said.

“Yet our bonds are of a different kind.” He rolled his eyes at her look. “Elill and I are friends.”

“For now,” Mira said with certainty.

Duro nodded, no longer bothering deny his truth. “I confess I do not know how to approach him in a different manner.”

“A deep look and a deeper kiss would do the trick,” Mira said. 

“He has spent his whole life subjected to other people’s desires, performing on command like a trained animal. I would never force my own upon him. _If_ he ever pursues desire for his own reasons, I will fully support him.”

“I think that desire will only be for you,” Mira said.

Duro said nothing in response. Elill deserved something better, something more than what little Duro had to offer. Duro was loyal to the very end; he knew how to make people laugh. He wasn’t a leader like Spartacus though. Or a stagiest like Agron could be when the mood struck him. Lydon had a signing voice that would make gods weep and knew every type of weapon the Romans ever touched. A reputation didn’t precede him like Gannicus or Crixus. He certainly didn’t have the patience or wisdom of Oenomaus. Gods, when even Agron was mocked by some of the Rebels, could anything possibly be in Duro’s favor? 

“He deserves more,” Duro said. 

“He deserves a chance to be with someone who already loves him with their whole heart,” Mira said. 

Her voice was angry. Duro knew they were no longer speaking just of Elill.

“He is not the only one,” Duro said.

 

***********************

There was a stack of twigs next to him waiting to be made into arrow shafts. It was a soothing task that he could work on even as the night fell. It felt good to have carving knife in hand and wood to shape. It brought back warm memories as he tried to teach Iodocus just as he taught Gerlind. Duro knew quiet moments like these were not long for the rebellion. He would revel in them while he still could. 

Iodocus was humming a German lullaby that Duro knew he never taught him.

“Where did you learn that? Agron, Donar, or Sigihild?”

“Saxa. I am teaching her some Latin and she is teaching me some German.”

“That better be all she teaches you,” Duro said. He repeated himself in German so she understood.

Saxa bared her teeth at him and laughed. She stalked over to them, crossing the invisible divide between the Germans and the Rebels with little care. 

“I do not wish to speak the tongue of the shits who enslaved us,” she informed him in the Common Tongue of the German tribes. “I want to understand it though. To listen.” Her eyes drifted over to where Gannicus sat on the wall. “And to conquer my own things.”

“I have little doubt you will succeed. We should teach you Aramaic next. Or the tongues of the Gauls.”

She playfully headbutted Duro. “Aramaic first. I can entice your man to teach me his dance with the knives.”

“He can instruct you in Latin,” Duro said. “And he’s not my man.”

“You are his, he is yours,” Saxa said before she stood to join the line for dinner. 

“You look confused,” Iodocus said.

“Just wondering when the world completely lost all sense.”

Elill finally appeared. He slid down next to them in his normal robe, smelling of his healing salves and lavender. 

“Where have you been?” Iodocus asked.

“Tracking down Nasir to properly wrap his ankle,” Elill said. 

Duro turned to look at where Nasir was standing next to one of the stone altars. His left foot was wrapped up halfway to his calf muscle.

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Duro said.

“It wasn’t until he tripped on a stair and slammed into a wall while trying to avoid me,” Elill said. “He’s worried Agron will think the injury to his foot will hamper other activities. If you can imagine it, your brother is overly cautious and overprotective.”

Duro almost choked he laughed so hard. 

Elill took the wood and knife from Iodocus. “Why don’t you go grab us a plate or two?”

“Don’t let Lugo push you around this time,” Duro yelled after him. “Stomp on his injured foot if he tries anything.”

Elill laughed. “Oenomaus would say that is a dishonorable way to fight.”

“It’s using whatever’s at his advantage. I’d like to see that boy survive to adulthood. Someone will have to take care of us when we’re old. I’d rather it be him than my sister, if she still lives in this world. She’d sells us in exchange for horses in a heartbeat.” 

Elill rested his fingers on the cloth covering Duro’s wrist. He’d sewn the strands from Gerlind’s dress into it before they left Capua. “I hope the gods allow us to see her again.”

“Just picture a darker-haired version of Saxa around Iodocus’ age and you’ll see her,” he said.

“Hmm,” Elill said. “I saw Saxa with you earlier. You make a beautiful pair.”

Duro fumbled his knife in surprise. He laughed it off. “Saxa would sooner kill me than kiss me. I prefer those who pose a less obvious threat.” 

Elill tilted Duro’s chin up so their eyes met. “Should you not seek companionship now that you are fully healed?”

“Do I not have friends enough?”

“You know of what I speak,” Elill chastised as he released Duro’s chin.

Duro dropped his eyes and focused on the arrow in his hands. “There is only one whose arms I would seek solace in. I fear they are not open to me.”

Elill was quiet and Duro’s mouth went dry in fear. He was worried about what he would find in those eyes. 

Elill sighed and shook his head, a few stray strands tickling Duro’s arms. “Your fears are unneeded,” he said. 

Duro licked his lips and cleared his throat. “Are they?” he whispered.

“Duro,” Elill said, voice gone tender. There was a silent command there too. 

Duro raised his head and found a gentle smile on Elill’s face. “There are many things we must speak of. There are concerns for both of us, I am sure. Where we find ourselves, what we find ourselves fighting, it is hardly ideal to start anything. Or perhaps it is the best time. Either way, your fears, are completely unnecessary.” 

“You deserve—”

“You,” Elill interrupted. “I deserve _you_ , you fucking fool of a barbarian.”

It felt natural in that moment to lean forward and meet Elill’s lips. They were softer than Duro expected and there was a taste there he needed more of. He dropped the knife and arrow and leaned into the kiss, hands eagerly wrapping themselves in Elill’s hair. He whimpered when he felt Elill’s fingers, those gorgeous hands with their always familiar touch, cup the back of his head and pull tight on the curls at his nape. 

Saxa was leading a cheering chant in German. He really didn’t give any resemblance of a fuck in that moment. Elill did pull back, peppering Duro’s face with soft kisses before he sat back.

“Okay?” he asked,

Duro nodded and grinned so hard it hurt his face. “That was unexpected.”

“Inevitable,” Elill corrected. 

“Finally,” Iodocus said as he sat down with their plates. “I was about to put aphrodisiacs in your water.”

Duro and Elill both swatted at his head. Duro was surprised Agron and Nasir weren’t here teasing them and saying the same. He looked up to find them in conversation with Spartacus before they put aside their dinner and went into the temple. Something to do with the Praetor’s wife, he guessed. 

He turned back to Elill, met his eyes and they both laughed. He almost felt drunk right now. There was a warmth settling in his belly and it just felt easier to simply be. It was perfect. Everything, in that moment, was perfect. The morning would bring challenges, long conversation, and even more concerns for their survival. Duro would think on it later. Now it was time to just take Elill’s hand in his own and enjoy.


	8. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) So sorry this took so long. Big Bang writing took over. 2) Many lines of dialogue are taken straight from Episode 8, _Balance_. They are designated as the lines completely in italics.

The air throughout the temple was far too tense, at least among their leaders. Spartacus and Mira were both at wit’s end. Lucius was even more irate than usual. Oenomaus and Gannicus were better left alone. Most of those from the House of Batiatus refused to relax with the serpent Ilithyia hidden inside the walls. Some were taking it better than others.

“I do not think the palus will survive the night,” Elill observed.

Duro snorted in agreement. Spartacus had spent the last hour hacking at its wooden beams, each stroke more frenzied and violent, as the skies thundered overhead. He was a man fighting his ghosts. All respected him enough to give him space. Spartacus had, from what Duro could observe, controlled his natural impulse for destruction since taking up the yoke of leadership. It almost felt like old times to watch him lose some of that control, as Doctore stood to the side and studied him. 

“Are we just to let him continue as such? I do not think it wise,” Elill said.

Duro gripped Elill’s wrist. “He would not welcome the interruption. _I_ would not welcome his anger being redirected at you.”

Elill answered with a smile. His eyes were drawn towards where Duro held him. It sent a warm rush through Duro’s body to see such a tender look on Elill’s face, placed there because of him. This was so new, not even an hour old, and yet Duro felt more comfortable than he had in the past twenty odd years of his life. 

Doubt still lingered, its taunting whispers curling and creeping into the dark spaces of Duro’s heart and mind. Elill could have anyone. Duro could not quiet the fear it was little more than just a shared connection that brought them here. Loneliness or obligation, Duro couldn’t decide which one was the worse.

He was surprised to feel Elill’s lips on his forehead. 

“Your eyes tell all, Duro,” he murmured. “Yes, I was born into a life of servitude, first for my gods and then for the Romans. Yes, choice has not always been mine and yet I’ve known it more than others. Do I strike you as the sort of creature who clings to another out of obligation or propriety?”

“Only if you feel it would be the best course of action,” Duro said. “Pity perhaps, for stupid fools you’ve been forced to heal.”

Elill’s strong fingers tilted Duro’s chin up. Flames from the torches reflected in his eyes but such a sight could not distract Duro from the pure love there. 

“Oh,” Duro said.

“You are a foolish child,” Elill said. “It is not pity, obligation, or sense of duty that makes me seek out your company at all times. You bring light, Duro, and joy to all around. Anger too, a guaranteed level of frustration, but I’ve seen few who make life better through simply existing in the world.”

Duro did not know the proper way to respond to such deep sentiments. He was never taught about _this_ and he was certain Agron was just learning it himself. He tightened his grip on Elill’s wrist and hoped that said enough for now. From the soft laugh Elill gave, he assumed it would do. 

“I was correct then,” Elill said. “You have never cared so deeply for another before, not in this way.”

Duro nodded in agreement. He knew companionship and shared lazy summer afternoons. He knew that excitement of a tumble against tree trunks or behind large banks of snow. He’d spent stolen moments lost in the heat and taste of men and women. He didn’t know how to reconcile that with what he felt now, where just the touch of Elill’s fingers could set him to distraction. 

“You have though,” Duro said. “With Adad, yes?”

“No,” Elill said. He kissed Duro’s temple. “I’ve never known this before.”

A loud crack sounded through the air and they both turned to see that Spartacus had finally broken the palus. He stuck his sword into the wooden stump with a shout. 

“At least it’s a training piece and not a person,” Elill muttered. 

“The night is still young,” Duro said. 

Lucius ducked past them in a hurry.

“I wonder what puts flight to his feet,” Elill said. “Yet another troubled mind this night.”

Duro grunted in agreement. He didn’t dislike Lucius though he also didn’t offer his full trust. He would never feel anything less than distrust for Romans. He knew he admonished Agron for doing the same to Elill and the other Syrians, but Duro felt he had enough fucking examples of how cruel the Romans could and would be to see their own causes to its end. 

Elill’s smile said he had correctly guessed Duro’s thoughts. “Perhaps he will calm Spartacus’ nerves. They seek the darkened paths together.”

Duro watched them walk off and couldn’t help but note the tension in Lucius’ back. 

“Does Agron not approve of his aid?” Elill asked.

Duro shrugged. “Agron has other distractions and cares weighing heavy on his mind. He will always seek to respect an elder after first meeting. He often feels that once bound in arms with each other against a common enemy means always being thus. Agron is more suspicious than me at first; I suppose I stand longer without trusting those around me.”

“And here I thought you the kinder of the two,” Elill teased.

“I still cursed Spartacus’ name when Agron sought his aid in keeping us together in the arena. Agron will always be the one to compromise when it is required. _I_ will always be the one used to end such compromises if so required.”

“And I suppose Nasir and I will be the ones to patch you both up when it all goes to shit.”

“Be honest, Elill, you and Nasir will be the ones to make it worse.”

Elill’s laughter ceased when he saw Gannicus approach Oenomaus. He moved forward to join them; Duro held him back.

“Let them have their own words. We can listen if we must.”

“That lacks honesty.”

“They need no interruptions,” Duro said. 

He led them behind a pillar, hidden half in shadows. From their position they could overhear the words exchanged perfectly. Elill placed his hand over Duro’s mouth, stopping any words from spilling forth. Duro shrugged at his fellow Germans who looked at him in amusement. 

He never thought to see Doctore as so very human. This was but a hurt and betrayed man before him. It revealed a weakness he never thought possible. Oenomaus always seemed like a statue, a still mockery of a man. To see him with such restrained anger make Duro feel compassion where he once had hatred. 

“ _You stand for nothing; as you always have_ ,” Oenomaus declared before he left Gannicus on the temple steps. 

Elill shook his head as he moved forward to help in his own way. 

Duro grabbed his arm. “Elill, it is not your place to meddle in this. Let him have the night before broaching subject.”

“Which one?”

Duro looked at Oenomaus unpleasant frown before turning his head to follow the rigid line of Gannicus’ back. 

“Both,” Duro said. “Let them have a night to rest. Oenomaus has not attempted to slit Gannicus’ throat yet, so perhaps there is hope.”

Elill shook his head. “Sometimes indifference is more of a burden than outright hatred.”

“Leave it for the morning,” Duro cautioned. He cupped Elill’s cheek. “We should seek our bed.”

Elill’s eyes lingered on Oenomaus for just a moment before he turned to Duro. “Just a quick word,” he said.

Duro raised his eyes to the sky and shook his head. He should’ve expected this. He had to scramble to keep pace. 

“Oenomaus,” Elill called as he hurried behind him. “I could not help but overhear your discussion.”

Oenomaus frowned at Elill. “You seek to meddle where you should not,” he said. 

“I simply wish to see old brotherhood restored,” Elill said.

“He slept with my wife,” Oenomaus said.

Duro hissed and tried to look anywhere that wasn’t Oenomaus’ face. “Some things are unforgivable,” he said.

Elill glared at him in such a way that made his skin crawl. He refused to drop his head though, this was a belief Duro would not compromise on.

“There must be more to the tale,” Elill insisted.

“What difference would it make?” Oenomaus asked.

“Besides the fact you and Melitta both loved the same man? Or is it jealously since she had a part of Gannicus you could not?”

“Elill,” Duro hissed. He didn’t see how forcing Oenomaus to shove Elill’s face into the nearest pillar would solve anything. No one ever spoke to Oenomaus like that; even Duro admitted he required more respect. 

From the look on his face even Elill was surprised such words had slipped out. “Apologies, Oenomaus,” he quickly said. “I spoke without respect.”

“Yes, you did,” Oenomaus agreed. He held Elill’s chin in a tight grip. “Leave this alone, Elill. We cannot all grasp on to the memories of youth. Some things come to ruin and stay broken. No amount of prayer or beseeching of the gods will fix them.”

“Yes, Oenomaus,” Elill murmured. 

Oenomaus nodded. “I seek my bed. I suggest you both find your own before any more foolishness slips from your tongues tonight.”

“That went well,” Duro muttered as Oenomaus left. He turned to Elill. “Gannicus violated his ties of brotherhood. He should not be so easily forgiven.”

“It is a privilege to see the world in such distinct and separate terms, is it not? Are people not allowed to make mistakes in Germania? Is love and desire always so convenient that conflicts never arise? If your brother were to turn to me with lust suddenly in his eyes, you would never forgive him?”

Duro shook his head. “It is not so simple as that.”

“No,” Elill agreed, “it is not. I cannot speak for the others but it makes little sense. Melitta loved Oenomaus. Gannicus still loves him.”

“Gannicus sought to kill him in the arena for coin.”

“Gannicus sought to send Oenomaus to death with honor; not to be butchered by some amateur gladiator on the sands of that cursed arena.”

It was mostly quiet as they walked deeper into the halls of the temple. Low laughter suddenly echoed on the walls. Elill and Duro flattened themselves against the stone as Nasir hurried past. He was quickly followed by Agron.

“Guard duty over?” Duro asked.

Agron grinned and patted Duro’s cheek. “We will speak later, brother.”

Duro laughed as he watched Agron catch Nasir. They slid their arms around each other, low words barely heard before they disappeared around the corner.

“I do believe they see themselves to an enjoyable night,” Duro said. 

They’d only made it halfway to their claimed corner when Mira stormed past them, a look of murderous rage on her face.

“What is is about this night?” Duro asked. 

Elill gripped the back of Duro’s neck and let his finger tease the sensitive skin there. “Hopefully a night of rest will see us all to a better morn.”

*********************

Duro wondered if, taking into accounts the events from last night, his world was supposed to feel wholly changed. It felt no different, just more at ease. His body and mind both felt relaxed in a way they hadn’t since joining the camp. Last night was both a confirmation and a reassurance. Nothing had changed and yet everything had. Not changed, no, just advanced on its natural course. 

He had hoped they would always end up here, him and Elill together. He just thought it would stay nothing but a fool’s wish. Duro was good with those type of wishes; they were how he survived in this world. 

The sound of training echoed through the halls even though the sun had yet to rise. It was enough to pull Duro out of his sleepy daze. The spot next to him was empty save a piece of bread wrapped in a slip of golden cloth he knew belonged to Elill. 

He wasn’t the only one to greet the dawn so late. He spotted his brother walking by, a smile to rival the sun on his face. 

“I assume you didn’t spend the night listing the achievements of our clan to Nasir,” Duro called out. 

Agron jogged over and slid down beside him. He broke off a piece of Duro’s bread before he could be stopped. 

“It was a pleasurable evening,” Agron said. “That is all you will know.”

Duro narrowed his eyes. “My brother is suddenly one for modesty? Those Syrians _are_ treacherous.”

Agron playfully swatted at Duro’s head. “Put it from thought; I will not disrespect Nasir as such.” He patted Duro’s side. “You are well? Nothing hurts?”

Duro grimaced. “Nothing more sore than the reminder of a previous day’s training. I think I shall skip the sands and take up the bow today, if weather permits.”

“Always the archer,” Agron said.

Duro rolled his eyes. “Some of us prefer more elegance than the brutish spearing of a boar.”

Agron laughed. “Elegance is it? Nothing at all to do with Uncle chasing you with one when you fed his wine to the goats?”

Duro raised a hand. “I still maintain it was only to see if, when fed wine, they could produce it as well.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Iodocus. He shook his head at the both of them. 

“This late and still abed. Oenomaus calls for you both. Spartacus is still in conference and Oenomaus feels it would be best if one of his leaders were present to witness the recruit training.” He pointedly looked at Agron.

“What of Mira?” Agron asked.

Iodocus shrugged. “She is out in the woods as she has been all morning. Rumor has it there was falling out between her and Spartacus last night over the Roman woman. Not that I heard anything since I promised Elill I would neither eavesdrop or gossip. Still, she passed the night on the main floor with all the others while Spartacus kept to his quarters.”

Agron cursed under his breath while Duro whistled in amazement. That was a leadership breakdown they could ill afford. 

“I will seek the steps,” Agron said. He ruffled Duro’s hair. “You go find Mira.”

“Me?” Duro asked. “Why should I offer her comfort? Would Naevia not be the better option?”

“Naevia has her own concerns. You already intended to practice your archery. Besides, Mira thinks me a mess of a child,” Agron said.

Duro scoffed. “I am your _younger_ brother.”

“By seconds,” Agron said. He waved his hand. “You are better at all of _that_.”

“ _That?_ Do you mean listening to another’s words? Yes, dear brother, you may want to attempt it one day.”

Agron clapped his shoulder. “I shall, not today. Do not let her stab you.”

Duro leaned his head back against the stone wall and sighed. “And this morning started out so well.”

Iodocus had the good grace not to laugh at him. He even fetched Duro a bowl of water and a towel to wash off the dust from last night. He planned to seek out Mira, and would, but first he wanted to locate Elill.

“Have you seen him today?” he asked Iodocus.

Iodocus nodded. “He remains with the medicus. They are learning from each other. Elill calls it a _tentative peace_. He claims it only occurred because Oenomaus approves of him. Why do they hate him so much? Elill is a kind person, excepting when he’s aggravated, but he gives his time to all who seek it.”

Duro tensed as he tried to think of the best way to explain. He was hardly a tolerant man on his own; his thoughts last night a prime example. His hatred for the Gauls did not run as deep as Agron’s, true, though he certainly did not rush to call them kin. Ashur was just the sort of man who made you wary of all others. He was intelligent, crafty, and loyal only to himself; the most dangerous of all men.

He patted Iodocus’ head. “Most will come to love Elill in time, as soon as they know him as a man. It does not excuse the behavior but Syrians have a reputation among those from the House of Batiatus, and it is not a good one. There was one man who ruined the lives of all he touched for his own gain. I am certain there are others who know what a Corybante is and how Cybele’s worship is performed, and find themselves uncomfortable towards that as well.”

“Many of them love Nasir though.”

“Nasir stands in high position at Agron’s side. They may not love him so much as fear what his disapproval could bring.”

“This is not the freedom they expected, I imagine,” Iodocus said.

“No,” Duro agreed with a laugh, “it is not.”

He left Iodocus at the remains of the entrance hall before he sought out Elill near the healing quarters. He could hear the low rumble of Elill’s voice matched with the softer tones of Nasir’s. He found Nasir propped up on one the stools while Elill held out his leg and examined his ankle.

“You should have come to me when you first felt the twinge,” Elill scolded. “Let us hope there’s no real damage.”

Duro quite enjoyed seeing someone else getting scolded. 

“I did not think it so bad at first,” Nasir said. “I planned to rest it after you near tackled me with bandages. Then Spartacus requested a guard duty and—” Nasir paused and dropped his head. “I was not on my feet all night.”

Elill finished wrapping Nasir’s ankle and stood. He grasped Nasir’s chin. “There are many lessons you must now learn as a free man, both on your own and with those around you. Here is one of the first: never be ashamed of finding love or pleasure. If the gods did not wish us to feel thus they would have denied us the capacity.”

“I’m not ashamed,” Nasir said. “Just unsure of what happens now.”

“My brother will continue to smother you with his love and attentions,” Duro said. He waved as the two surprised men flinched at his voice. 

“I see you have finally decided to greet the dawn,” Elill said. “Should you not be training with Oenomaus?”

Duro shook his head. “Side is a bit sore; I am to seek Mira. I am uncertain just where she practices her archery. Nasir?”

Nasir nodded. “I can show you.”

“You can stay off that foot,” Elill said. “Despite appearances, Duro has a talent for directions. Just explain where she is in the layout of the forest.”

Duro would’ve been insulted even if it wasn’t for Elill biting his lip to hold back laughter. That was quite the distracting act.

“She favors the path nearest the lake,” Nasir said as he looked back and forth between them. “I see I am not the only one who had an enjoyable evening.”

Duro sniffed. “I did nothing but eat dinner and watch half this temple run around like mad.”

Elill smiled as he arranged his bandages and oils. “Yes, I do believe that was the proper order of last night’s events.” He turned around and cupped Duro’s face. He brushed his lips against Duro’s own in a teasing manner. “Go find Mira,” he whispered.

Duro closed his eyes and willed his pulse to slow while ignoring Nasir’s amused chuckles. 

He knew then Syrians would be the downfall of his family.

***********************

Duro took longer than he anticipated to find Mira. He had to stop off by the weapons hold to gather his own bow and quiver of arrows to use as a reason for finding her. It took him even longer to get out of the temple when various members of his kin stopped to ask questions and demanded answers about when they would hold real steel in their hands. A stumble down two wrongs paths and eventually he came to her clearing. Mira stood off to the side, practicing her aim with an aggravation that Duro well-recognized. Only the angry and broken-hearted fought so.

“You deserve better,” Duro said. He handed her his quiver of arrows. “You deserve someone who can love you with their full heart not just the shattered pieces.”

“A child knows so much of love,” Mira said.

“I know little, I admit. I do know there are those who look upon you with more favor than a friend and bed warmer.”

Duro braced himself for the expected slap. It never landed. 

“I took both from his as well,” Mira said. “It is not his fault he cannot love me in the way I desire.”

“It is his fault for continuing on when he knew well your feelings, plain for all to see.”

“It was my choice to start it,” Mira said.

Duro nodded. “His to end it?”

“I tried to kill Glaber’s bitch with my bare hands. He did not agree with such a course.”

Duro had no doubt, if uninterrupted, Mira would’ve succeeded. There was a fierceness in her, a pride that reveled in the action, that he knew to be at the heart of all true warriors. 

“In doing so you may well have saved many of us. I suppose the gods saw fit to spare her for another day, whatever their reasons be.”

Mira laughed at him. “Your brother often declares the gods should be fucked and you rely on their guidance?”

“ _I_ don’t,” Duro said. “I’m trying to be less blasphemous for the sake of peace. Perhaps Elill’s gods will be more pleasant than whichever ones have guided me.”

“You still live. We all thought you for certain death. Nasir still breathes, as does Naevia. The gods do not always answer in pleasant ways even when they grant miracles.” Mira prepared her stance for the next shot and let her arrow fly. “I seek their blessings but now I shall rely on my own hands to guide my path.”

“Sound advice,” Duro agreed. He worked part of a wax block over his bowstring. “If you find yourself in need of more earthly companions, I offer myself and Elill.”

Mira lowered her bow. “Much has changed last night. I shall seek to make your progress the gossip of the camp over my failure.”

“It is not a failure to attempt completion of a task you know loved-one cannot seek.”

“It feels far from success,” Mira scoffed. She raised her bow again and shot off another arrow that met the center of its target.

“A different path and goal than originally sought, I’ll admit, but you have seemed to find it.” Duro pointed to the range of perfectly hit targets. “This is no insignificant skill, Mira. There is means here to save all our asses.”

She raised her head. “I have improved by requirement.”

“A year ago you never wielded a weapon. I am impressed,” Duro said. He took his own shot and wasn’t surprised when it fell off-center.

“You need to readjust your stance,” Mira said. She walked over to him and kicked his feet farther apart. “Try again.”

Duro did not correct Mira that he knew all the adjustments required. In this moment she needed to be an instructor, to be removed from her thoughts. He never paid much attention to her in the ludus; his mind more concerned with new friendships among his fellow gladiators. She was a familiar face though among so many strangers and carried the burden of their camp’s upkeep. It was reason enough for Duro to aid in her need for distraction. Mira could be as close as a sister if time allowed it.

************************

Elill, Duro, and Iodocus claimed a corner far removed from many of the others and close to the healer’s rooms. It wasn’t so much secluded as too far from the warming fires for most others’ taste. Duro didn’t mind the cold before when Elill shared warmth as a friend; he minded even less now with the new possibilities of their relationship. There were still conversations to be shared though they both preferred silent companionship while avoiding the blazing heat of the mid-day sun. Duro propped himself against the stone wall with Elill’s head in his lap. He ran his fingers through the long strands and smiled to himself while Elill hummed in pleasure and checked the stitches on Iodocus’ new gloves. It was their only little place of solace.

Spartacus apparently favored the spot for a meeting. 

“I would have words,” Spartacus said as he approached them. His eyes lingered over them.

Elill’s body tensed under Duro’s hands. “I supposed I should vacate my own bed roll.”

“No,” Spartacus said with a hand held out. “Stay, please. I only did not realize you were so engaged.”

Elill’s eyes widened before his whole body started to shake with laughter. Duro stared at him in confusion before meeting Spartacus’ startled gaze.

“Apologies,” Elill said. “It amuses me that a man who defies the very armies of Rome and tempts the gods with each breath finds himself worried for missing one bit of idle gossip.”

Duro flipped a long length of Elill’s hair over his face and gently pushed him from Duro’s lap. “What he means to say is that it is a recent development and you have greater concerns. What words do you wish to exchange?”

Spartacus shook his head. “Wait until the others have arrived. We will be less bothered here.”

“No one would expect you to divulge secrets in presence of a treacherous Syrian,” Elill said. His tone was dark, yet Duro spotted the glint in his eyes. 

“You batted at the poisonous snakes as a babe,” Duro guessed. 

Elill shrugged. “I think I am allowed some amusement from a man who has said words against both your brother and myself in recent days.”

“Trust must be earned,” Spartacus said.

“Agreed, as does respect,” Elill replied. 

Duro shook his head. “I am starting to understand just why your temple had so many head priests. You drove each of them off, didn’t you?”

Elill reached out and flicked Duro’s earring. “See, you were meant to be a mediator.”

“Spartacus, you requested words,” Crixus growled. 

Naevia stood behind him, Nasir at her side, and Agron glaring over both their heads at Crixus. Duro looked to his empty glass and pouted. He had a feeling this would require far more wine. 

“I would,” Spartacus said. “Let us sit while we wait for the last two summoned.”

Oenomaus and Mira then appeared, both looking far from eager for the discussion. Mira took her place between Nasir and Naevia but Oenomaus came over to him and Elill.

“May I?” he asked. 

Duro nodded and let go of Elill’s hair to shift and open the space between them. Oenomaus placed a hand on Duro’s shoulder and stopped him. He looked between the two of them and briefly smiled. He sat on Elill’s other side instead.

“Iodocus?” Elill asked.

“Learning a few choice phrases with Saxa and Lugo,” Oenomaus said.

Agron chuckled. “They’ll make a proper German of him yet.”

“It is good to see the child finding his place,” Spartacus agreed. “Now that we are all gathered I would share with your my plans for Ilithyia.”

“Yes, please explain why that Roman bitch is still alive,” Agron growled. 

Nasir faced tensed in a displeased smile and Duro was left to wonder just how much of his past Agron had withheld. Nasir’s empathy was admirable but Ilithyia had ruined a whole slew of lives, not to mention the crimes of the fuck she married.

“I sent Lucius to Glaber with word of her,” Spartacus said.

A shocked silence fell among the group.

“Have you lost fucking mind,” Crixus hissed. “Glaber will attack us before nightfall.”

“Have more faith in Lucius’ abilities.”

“And a Roman man’s need for his heir,” Elill muttered. 

“He did not send an initial search party after her,” Mira said. “How can we know he still desires her return? It is a needless risk that should not have been taken.”

“It _could_ be a fruitful wager,” Nasir said. He didn’t flinch when all eyes turned his way, and kept his eyes and voice steady. “I recall my dominus speaking of the scandal when such a wealthy daughter of Rome married Glaber. His wealth is tied to her father’s lands and the heir that comes through her. Unless he has already made plans to divorce her and found another viable marriage option, Glaber will require the money and influence carried by his wife’s family name.”

“It is many lives to risk on mere chance,” Mira argued.

“It is done, there is no need to argue of it more,” Spartacus declared. “It is my proposition to Glaber I wish to inform you of. Lucius carries message that we will trade Ilithyia for a take of weapons. I have suggested Atella for the meeting place. He gets his wife, we got our supplies, and we do so far removed from the camp.”

Crixus and Agron both grunted in agreement at the mention of more weapons. Mira and Oenomaus seemed dissatisfied.

“Glaber does not carry your honor,” Mira said. “He _will_ attempt to kill you.”

“Which is why we will both have three of our most trusted men at our sides,” Spartacus explained.

“You expect him to arrive with only three? He will bring an army after him,” Mira said.

“Not under threat of his wife’s death,” Spartacus said.

“Not all men love their wives as you do,” Mira insisted. 

Duro focused on braiding the strands of Elill’s hair he had in his hands because if he dared looked up, the room would be full of his inappropriate laughter. There was a reason Agron was the brother picked for strategy meetings.

“Even if he does not, he will fight for his heir,” Spartacus insisted. “I do not put faith in Roman vows, Mira. I would have some of you to support us, hidden of course. It is still decided who will go with me. If Glaber should agree we will have to depart at once. I do not wish to see the camp unprotected. We will discuss arrangements later, I just wished to inform you of what is to come.”

“You do not often act so without consulting us first,” Crixus said.

“There was little time,” Spartacus said. “Are we agreed?”

“We have little choice,” Mira said. “I pray your haste does not see us all to early death.” She departed before any could stop her. 

Spartacus’ jaw clenched as she left. He slowly shook his head and turned back to him. “Return to training. It would raise suspicion if we are all absent and the mid-day sun has passed its peak. Let us not tarry.”

Crixus and Naevia departed right after Spartacus; the others lingered.

“Do you think it a wise plan?” Agron asked Oenomaus.

Oenomaus shook his head. “It is too late for such speculation now. We must see the course through to its end. The one thing I suggest is that Duro and Nasir stay within the temple. They are both too newly returned to health and still require training.”

“So said the man who had an arena fall on his head,” Elill said.

“You well know I have survived worse,” Oenomaus argued as he stood. 

“Yes and I was the one who received the prayers of your terrified wife,” Elill muttered.

“The German is bringing out your petulance,” Oenomaus said. “I knew he would be a horrible influence.”

“The blame really does rest on you, Doctore. You were the one to save me,” Duro said.

“An action I regret most days,” Oenomaus teased. “I expect all of you on the sands.”

“Yes, Doctore,” they answered in unison.

 

************************

Spartacus kept pacing the walls of the temple as he waited for Lucius’ return. Many of the fellow rebels did not understand why their leaders were so agitated and Duro almost despaired for how the news would be met. 

Practice took all their attention now. Rebels, Germans, every last one of them was out on the sands listening to instruction. It amused Duro to see Agron attempting to teach the sword to former house-slaves the way he had to Gerlind. Hopefully these students had less of a tendency to bite.

“I would have words, priest,” Gannicus said to Elill.

Duro looked over in concern. Elill seemed far from bothered as he practiced knives with Saxa.

“Speak them, Gannicus,” Elill said. “I am capable of listening and training at once.”

“You have the ear of Oenomaus,” Gannicus said.

“There are many who hold it,” Elill said. “I have already made attempt to intercede on your behalf. Leave him be and let him sort his own mind.”

“Weak words I should expect from a creature who is only half a man,” Gannicus sneered.

Nasir had a hold on both Duro and Agron before they could come to Elill’s defense. Elill did not require their help. He gestured for Saxa to stop before turning to Gannicus and laughing in his face.

“You would not heed the words of the gods if they came down themselves to deliver it,” Elill said.

“Why would he seek company with one such as you? What promises do you make to know his thoughts?” Gannicus asked.

“Gannicus, I would never presume to know another’s innermost thoughts, least of all Oenomaus. I think we can both agree there has only ever been one, perhaps two, who could see clearly inside his mind and they both lay dead . I do know how it feels to attempt to move on from your own past. There is shock when it returns to you so quickly followed by revelation which tarnishes the memory of cherished wife. If you push him any further, there will never be reconciliation. Think of the man you knew, the brother you once held so dear. Is it ever possible to force a change of Oenomaus’ opinion? To bring another’s wife, heavy with child, as some bargaining chip? He still holds honor as the highest object above everything else.” He handed his practice knives to Camilla. “If you will excuse me, this _creature_ must seek refreshment.”

Nasir, Duro, and Agron all exchanged glances before trailing after Elill to the water barrel. Elill turned from his drink to find them staring at him.

“If Oenomaus wishes to teach stealth you three will need private lessons,” Elill said.

“Are you well?” Nasir asked before Duro could.

Elill nodded. “Thirst has been quenched, so better.”

Duro studied Elill. He did not appear upset or angered. He took another sip of his cup and threw his long braid back over his shoulder. 

“What of Gannicus’ words?” Duro asked.

Elill scoffed. “I received harsher words from Oenomaus just last night.” He slapped Duro’s head as he passed. “You were there, if you can recall.”

Agron held up his hand. “Elill, do not put on false bravado for us. He called you less than a man.”

“Which is how I’m defined under Roman law.” Elill patted Agron’s arm. “I do welcome this change of heart towards me, Agron, but do not start useless fights. If I tried to defend myself each time such a taunt was hurled at me, I’d be more exhausted than Atlas himself.”

Agron turned to Nasir in confusion.

“It is believed Atlas carries the world on his shoulders,” he explained. “It does not excuse Gannicus’ words.”

Elill laughed. “I received worst insults from Agron and Spartacus upon my arrival, Nasir. I do not expect proper words from the Celt. Let us return to our training.”

Duro did not trust the brushed off concerns. He would not raise protest out in the open among those eager to exploit weaknesses. He understood then that even if Elill had felt truly insulted, there wasn’t much to do in the way retribution towards a former champion of the arena. 

The sun began its descent and Nasir, Elill and Duro took their places at the fringes. Training by the dark always brought more injury and Duro held little desire to see his side cut again.

When Spartacus returned from a walk with Lucius at his side the whole camp trickled to a standstill. Crixus called out for news on the agreement and Duro leaned back waiting for the inevitable conflict. 

“Here comes the lecture. Perhaps he can give such a pretty speech over all our funeral pyres,” Iodocus said.

“We’ve ruined the boy,” Duro said. 

Elill covered his mouth to muffle his laughter. Duro started as well and buried his face in Elill’s hair in hopes Spartacus would think them caught in a moment rather than his mockery.

“ _Let us take his weapons and his fucking life_ ,” Lugo yelled to cheers of all.

“Here it comes,” Nasir murmured.

Duro could feel tears start to strain at his eyes, even as his brother volunteered his services.

“Shush,” Elill said. He swatted Duro’s legs. “Quiet. Gannicus is making attempt to prove his worth to Oenomaus. I would hear his words.”

Duro took a deep breath and tried to adopt a serious face. It didn’t help that Nasir was struggling to do so as well.

“ _Return with proper weapons, and your lives_ ,” Oenomaus ordered.

“Yes, Doctore,” Duro murmured. 

Nasir and Elill both slapped him for that one.

“ _It is madness to place trust in the words of Glaber_ ,” Mira protested.

Duro smiled in pride. It wasn’t the proper thing to do, not to show such disagreement in front of the others, but it was the _right_ thing. In this plan, Duro trusted Mira’s judgment more than any other. He was sure others deemed her complaints that of a spurned lover; she showed far more foresight for their care than Spartacus had when sending Lucius to Glaber without their consent. No pretty words about placing faith in the people around him would quiet Duro’s own protests. His brother and Crixus, one who could be counted as friend, could die tomorrow because of one man’s machinations that would surely prove fruitless. 

Elill leaned over Duro. “Nasir, see Agron to a quick rest. If you are to march to Atella before dawn, he should sleep first. Half-awake men should not fight battles.”

Nasir shook his head. “You think Spartacus is doomed to fail?”

Elill shrugged. “I think heir or no, no commander of Rome’s armies wants to admit he lost his wife to the very man he has been trying to capture for half a year.”

“Spartacus will want to leave soon, I would suppose,” Nasir said.

Elill grinned. “Then I suggest you get Agron to sleep quickly.”

Nasir stood. “Duro, you have my sympathies for dealing with such a man.”

Duro scoffed. “You find yourself in love with my brother. You have all our sympathies.” He watched Nasir greet Agron with a smile. The immediate change which overcame his brother upon contact could warm the coldest of hearts. Theirs was a true affection.

Elill tugged on Duro’s hand. “Come, help me prepare packs with bandages and healing herbs.”

“You think it will end in blood?” Duro asked as he followed.

“Does it not always with them?” Elill asked. He turned to Iodocus. “Are you going to join us, imp?”

Iodocus shook his head. “It is time Duro learned to wrap bandages without my assistance. Lugo has promised to teach me a song before evening meal. I would not miss it.”

Elill sighed and rolled his eyes to the skies. “He is turning into one of you. The gods forsake me.”

Duro wrapped his arms around Elill’s waist. “You’re next,” he whispered.

Elill patted Duro’s hands. “I look forward to your enticements later. Bandages now.”

He followed Elill through the darkened hallways, carefully maneuvering over already sleeping bodies and the detritus of too many people in an enclosed space. He nearly stumbled in surprise when Elill pulled him not into the healer’s supply room, but the empty alcove beside it.

“We have not had much chance to speak since revelations of two nights ago,” Elill said.

“There has been much in the way of activity,” Duro agreed. “A rebellion is exhausting.”

Elill laughed low at the jest. He ran the tips of his fingers down Duro’s face. “I know it is far from the opportune time to begin anything and you have you worries.”

Duro pressed his lips to the fingertips that rested on his jaw. “I only wish for you to seek choice and happiness.”

“I have it with you,” Elill said. “You do not see me as one of my titles or position. You see me as Elill and still look upon me with fondness as each new part of my past you learn. Your only demand is my own happiness. I could never turn from such gifts when they are all I ever desired. You are answered prayers, Duro, even if you do not believe in my gods or your own.”

Duro’s closed his eyes and took a moment to breathe. He did not know how to handle such devotion. He did not see how someone other than family could care so deeply. This was too much, a dream perhaps, brought on by the long training from the day. The familiar scent of Elill told him it was truth; no vision could carry that heady smell. Duro blindly reached a hand out and loosened the tie of Elill’s braid. He needed to know, needed to _feel_ the real, solid weight of it.

“I am here,” Elill whispered into his ear. “This is not a vision. We are here, together, like this.”

Duro clung to him. “I should warn you, once started, there is no retreat. My family is full of possessive fucks and I fear I may be the worst of the lot. My mother once cursed a woman who looked at my father too long; the next day four of the sheep were taken by wolves.”

“That is not an uncommon occurrence.”

“It is when it was my family’s wolf,” Duro admitted. 

Elill’s lips pressed soft kissed to Duro’s forehead, then his eyes. “Open,” he ordered.

Duro did.

“I will not leave unless you desire it,” Elill promised. “That will be the way of us.”

“That could be a very long time,” Duro said.

Elill cupped Duro’s cheeks. “It will never be enough.”

***********************

The woods were too still this early in the dawn outside Atella. Spartacus, Crixus, Agron, and Gannicus already took their places hidden inside the settlement. Lucius and Mira would provide support if required. Elill, Duro, Nasir, and Donar remained hidden in the woods on the far side of the city waiting to provide wound treatment and pass on message to the camp if required. 

They could not see inside the city nor much of the Romans though the echo of clanging armor was clear in the morning air. It was infuriating for Duro to be so close and yet so far removed from the fight. It was closer to a year since he’d last seen battle. The tingle that raced under his skin in anticipation of conflict made his hands shake. 

He should’ve known, as they all had from the start, it would go to pure shit. One moment the air remained quiet, the next it was filled with the harsh clash of swords and yells of fighting men. Donar tense beside him, hands already going to his axe.

“Do we just wait?” Nasir asked.

“There was been no signal from Mira,” Donar confirmed. “We hold position.”

When a horn of Rome sounded, Elill’s tight hold on Duro’s arm was the only thing keeping him in place.

“They have a fucking army,” Duro hissed.

“Do not risk your life or the others by giving away our location,” Elill said. “You could ruin the chances for their retreat.”

“My brother is out there,” Duro insisted.

“If Nasir stays put, so can you,” Elill said.

Donar grunted from where he held Nasir back. “You should seek a better comparison, priest.”

“Corybante,” Elill automatically corrected. 

There wasn’t long of a wait for the group to stumble towards them, staggering, bloodied, and minus Lucius.

“We must run,” Spartacus ordered.

“You are all bleeding,” Elill said. He looked to blood spewing from Agron’s nose and mouth. “Some of you profusely.”

“A matter we will handle when more distance lies between us and the Romans.”

They did not stop until the temple was in sight, then it was a flurry of activity as Mira saw to Crixus, Elill to Gannicus, then Spartacus, and Nasir and Duro to Agron. No one said a word about Lucius’ absence. He would’ve followed if he could. Duro knew Elill would give prayers tonight in his memory. There was solace to be taken in his final act; one last stand against the Romans he despised. Though he was not friend to Duro, he offered shelter, supplies, and training to rebels when no other options appeared. He was to be mourned for all he had given.

“What is it you once said to me about mercenaries?” Spartacus asked Elill as he treated his wound. 

“Men with lesser honor and nothing but bloodlust to feed them are easily bought,” Elill said. “If I were you, I would try to recall their fighting patterns and pass it on to Oenomaus. He may well be able to adjust training to take into account this new knowledge.”

Duro stood with Nasir as they tried to clean and inspect Agron’s nose.

“It does not appear broken,” Nasir said.

“Pity; it could’ve fixed that face of yours,” Duro teased.

Agron grunted. “My brother mocks my failure. So kind to have you still at my side.”

“If only to remind you that those were professionals you fought not the shit-for-sense roman fucks you’ve slaughtered before.”

“I have fought mercenaries.”

“I will not argue that being caught so unaware was foolish. Be thankful you still have your life and your cock and greet the dawn, brother.”

Nasir stared at them. “You comfort in each other in strange manner.”

Duro gripped his shoulder. “I leave you to find a better way.”

“No weapons, new injuries, Lucius most likely dead. A lovely night in Atella,” Donar said.

“We should have met Glaber with a whole volley of arrows,” Mira agreed as she wiped the blood from Crixus’ face.

“The gods yet spare his life. The does not mean they will do so forever,” Spartacus argued. 

“Honor leaves us with bloodied cheeks and broken bones,” Crixus agreed. “How Agron still stands after the fall he took remains a mystery. Both the pups enjoy lives on their backs.”

Duro laughed at the familiar jest even though it made Agron spit blood in rage.

“How did you fall?” Nasir asked.

“I opened the wagon to receive a kick to my chest,” Agron admitted.

Nasir’s hands immediately went to Agron’s chest looking for additional injury.

“It is fine,” he insisted.

Elill left Spartacus and marched over to Agron. “Let me see.”

“I will wait for medicus,” Agron said.

Elill exchanged a look with Nasir.

“Agron, heed Elill’s words before I heed them for you,” Nasir ordered.

“He took an elbow to the underside of his chin as well,” Mira helpfully provided. 

“Crixus got his chest stomped on,” Agron argued.

Nasir and Elill turned around to stare at him. Crixus showed more intelligence. He pulled off his coat without argument. 

“They were some of the strongest fighters we’ve yet met. We would not be alive if it weren’t for our archers,” Crixus said.

“Hired assassins. They do not have the discipline of trained Roman soldiers but they are far more dangerous. Unpredictable,” Oenomaus said. He looked among them all. “You are late and loud.”

“And lacking a member,” Naevia said. “We have lost Lucius.”

Spartacus nodded. “Though the gods have returned us one soul from the dead; maybe we shall see another.”

Gannicus finally broke his silence. “And the Roman woman? What shall you do with her?”

“Leave her fate to the gods,” Spartacus said. “Her husband cares not for her life. He seeks his pride over the protection of his heir. It is punishment enough.”

Agron scoffed. “What will you do? Leave her in the middle of the road to seek passage? Should we prepare her a travel pack as well?”

“My greater concern falls to what we must tell all the others. We have no weapons, no armor, and we have lost our guide,” Mira said.

Spartacus stood and stared at the temple walls. “We will tell them that we failed; I will not have lies passed on to them. We were ambushed, there were no weapons to be had, and we failed. We will have to seek a different strategy.”

He began the lonely walk back. They trailed behind him in one group showing their support for each other and the man who had led them this far.


	9. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lines lifted directly from episode 9. They're in italics.

The warm press of lips ghosting across his forehead pulled Duro from his dreams. It took him a moment to remember where he was, the unfamiliar taste of the air on his tongue as he struggled to wake. There were low murmurs and the soft whispers of cloth around him. He blinked his eyes open to the minuscule light of stars and low-burning torches. Elill and Iodocus were donning their cloaks and boots. Gestures were used to communicate instead of words as they both gathered bowls and herbs to place in their packs. 

Duro squinted at the two of them. “Stealing away together in the night? You could’ve given a word in parting.”

Elill whirled around in surprise, his unbound hair fanning around him. He knelt down beside Duro. “You are supposed to still be in dreams.”

“Advice for the next time you plan to abandon me; do not kiss me first,” Duro groused. He tried to dodge the hand Elill used to cup his face, but it was no use. Elill’s longer limbs would always have the advantage.

“We do not leave, you stupid barbarian. We go to the river’s edge to mark and give thanks for the pass of mid-summer. Resume your dreams; Iodocus and I only leave for a morning of worship. We will return with the sun.”

Duro shook his head and threw off his blanket. “I can’t have you two trampling around that forest alone. You could end up a tasty treat for a bear.”

“Or a prized catch for a Roman,” Iodocus agreed.

Elill took a deep breath. “Duro, we are perfectly capable of handling ourselves, though we would never forbid you from joining us. Your presence is always welcome and appreciated. Iodocus, please refrain from encouraging his overprotective tendencies.”

“Overprotective,” Duro scoffed. “Wanting you see your life kept within your body is _hardly_ overprotective. At least I don’t slip sleep draughts into people’s wine.”

“It was for the good of your health,” Elill insisted. 

Duro didn’t even bother with a cloak as they departed. The air was still too warm for his liking and he did not wish to be weighed down with heavy cloth. He tried to mimic Elill and Iodocus’ feet as they silently walked through the maze of sleeping bodies; he wasn’t successful but he refrained from outright stepping on anyone’s head. 

Naevia was the only one awake when they approached the temple entrance and stairs. A restless soul like the rest of them, Duro was not surprised to see her up before the dawn. 

“You leave?” she asked. A skeptical gaze traveled from Elill and Iodocus to Duro. “Only two of you are properly suited for such travel. Duro, you stay behind?”

Duro shook his head. “We all stay. These two just need a moment of religious observance.” He grimaced as Agron’s loud snore filled the room. “An impossible task when surrounded with such noise.”

Naevia’s smile was small yet present. “I do not envy Nasir.”

Duro grinned. “Nasir will learn. _I_ was the one who had to sleep with that sound my whole life.”

“ _You_ sound much the same,” Elill teased. He bowed his head to Naevia. “You are welcome to join us, if you like.”

Naevia shook her head. “Gratitude, but I must decline. I do not wish to see a calf sacrificed.”

Elill nodded. “I would do no such thing. Vesta is not one I ever prayed to or worshiped. We just go to give thanks and to start the mourning period, at least as it follows my own beliefs. Tammuzi is a companion of Ishtar, and his worship is one dear to my heart. ”

“Mourning?” Duro asked.

“The days will be shorter now,” Iodocus explained. “So Elill will mourn for the death of Tammuzi and offer prayers for his eventual re-birth.”

Elill patted Iodocus’ head. “You are my best pupil.”

“I have always enjoyed your tales,” Iodocus confessed. “I do not remember many of those from my homeland.”

“Perhaps we can fill Gannicus with wine and get him to squawk,” Naevia said. “Be safe,” she added as they passed. 

Duro couldn’t help but lightly jab Agron’s side as they passed. It was an old habit, one first started under the creaking logs and thatched roof of their home, always accompanied by the small laughter of the victor. It was a game they played throughout their life; such a simple thing Duro was glad they could continue. Agron grabbed at Duro’s ankle and almost sent him tumbling to the stone floor, but Elill caught him first.

“Children, cease,” Elill ordered. 

Agron just huffed and released Duro’s leg before he rolled onto his other side. 

Elill shook his head. “If we do ever acquire enough good fortune to meet your mother, remind me to commend her for her unending patience with raising you.”

“She is not the one you need to commend,” Duro admitted. “If we got to be too much we were sent to annoy our father. If we committed a repeat of that time we dropped dye on the herd of sheep, we were sent off to her brother, my uncle. For some odd reason his clan was better able to handle us. Perhaps because they are made of outsiders and loners from other clans. We amused them, I suppose.”

They waved to Nasir and Lugo as they passed through the gate. Nasir nodded at them; Lugo looked half asleep. Donar was the last guardian before they could take the path to the river. There was the worn one in the forest floor and the shorter one Iodocus and Lydon had discovered. The shortcut was difficult to manage in the dark and Oenomaus had come up with a solution to that problem. Duro was of the group forced into a blindfold and made to navigate it all by touch and smell alone. He prayed he never had to use such knowledge for fear they’d all end up with fucking broken ankles. 

“You greet the morning this early?” Donar questioned. “I never knew you were capable of seeing this hour, Duro.”

Duro gave him one of the must vulgar gestures known to their kin. Donar only laughed and waved them off into the woods. 

It was the warm touch of Elill’s hand on the small of his back that quieted Duro’s grumbles. Early mornings were never a favorite, and he especially did not like them accompanied by everyone’s teasing remarks. It was too early to wade through all that shit. Duro relaxed back into the touch and accepted the strong arm wrapped low around his side.

“What does this ritual entail?” he asked.

Elill kissed Duro’s temple before answering. “A wash, both because we need it and for cleansing. Then just a few prayers and a small sacrificial fire in our case. We do not have the means to give proper sacrifice. I am sure the gods will appreciate the gesture as enough.”

“And we need all the help we can get from whoever’s listening,” Iodocus said. He suddenly stopped and turned to the eastern woods. “Do you hear that?”

Duro and Elill both quieted and there it was, slight but still, the sound of metal clinks that only came with armor. Elill immediately forced Iodocus behind him. He pulled a set of long daggers from under his cloak and passed one to Duro. They all crouched low and moved from rock to tree and back until they found the source of the noise.

Crixus, Gannicus, and Spartacus stood near the bubbling sound of the river bed, sorting out and pulling on three sets of Roman armor. 

Duro exchanged an incredulous look with Elill. He handed his dagger back before he shrugged and stepped out into the clearing. Elill and Iodocus followed closely behind.

 

“What the fuck are you three doing?” Duro asked.

Gannicus, Crixus, and Spartacus all turned on their group with weapons raised. Duro just blinked at them before resuming his relaxed stance. 

“What are you doing out here before dawn?” Crixus growled.

Duro cast a dubious eye over their attire. “I just asked the same of you three. You are donning our enemy’s armor while we are worshiping.”

“You?” Spartacus scoffed.

“They are worshipping,” he amended as he waved at Elill and Iodocus. “I am observing. You three are standing around dressed as Romans. I ask you, who is the most suspicious of this gathering?”

“Let them back now, they were alert your plan,” Gannicus said.

“They are worshipping,” Spartacus said. “A priest and his attendants would not be of concern to the Romans and from here they couldn’t reach the temple without meeting their death first.”

Duro rolled his eyes. “You underestimate my ability to cheat death. I’ve done it once and Iodocus is quite swift.”

“Do not mock the gods who decided to spit you back out of the Underworld,” Spartacus said. “We must prove a point to the others about our battle readiness.”

“You’re going to attack the temple,” Iodocus said. 

Spartacus nodded. “It will be a long day of training. We can no longer tarry in needless tasks. We must be prepared.”

“To prepare them you plan to attack your own people?” Elill asked. “Is that not opening yourselves to needless injury and fear?”

Spartacus shook his head. “It will show us who is quick enough to respond and who needs more intense training. It is the best way to assess their abilities. If we can enter the temple without being stopped, or the others alerted, it shows how great our failings are. We only seek to test, the Romans will destroy.”

“Stay here,” Crixus ordered.

Duro rolled his eyes. “Still not the arena, old man.”

“The world is still my arena, pup. Stay here, stay alive, and perhaps this time you will stay off your back.”

“Oh,” Elill said as he pulled off his cloak, “I would not place a bet on that last one.”

Gannicus laughed low. “Corybantes,” he muttered. “May we continue with this foolish plan now? I wish to see myself to wine.”

“You can only be parted for so long,” Elill agreed. 

Gannicus smirked and swatted Elill’s ass as he passed. Duro didn’t understand it; last week they were at each other’s throats and now they were as old friends. Gannicus took a certain familiarity with Elill that not even Oenomaus attempted. 

Gannicus stopped in front of Duro and patted his arm. “Calm yourself. I would not attempt to take the priest from you, though the hair is an attraction.”

Elill mockingly threw his hair over his shoulder in response. 

“So few of those I once knew still draw breath in this world,” Gannicus said. “I would hold those close that still remain.”

“Even one you see as less than a man?” Duro asked.

Gannicus laughed again and turned to Elill. “You picked one with a bite. I always knew you Corybantes were fucking insane.”

“You’d be perfect for us, Gannicus. After they cut your cock off, of course.”

“And covered it in marble,” Gannicus agreed. He turned back to Duro. “My dearest friends in life have been both man and woman. I love them all, in all forms.”

“Oh, I assumed it was wine and blood,” Duro said. He ignored the slap Crixus gave to the back of his head. “Or is it the custom among your kind to insult your friends and attempt fight?”

“Yes,” Gannicus answered. 

“Dawn is nearing,” Iodocus said before Duro could argue his true point. “If you plan to continue your attack, you should move.”

“The babe speaks sense,” Crixus agreed. 

“The babe has a name,” Elill said. “It is Iodocus; he is young and yet has trained among your forces as much as any recruit. Show him respect and recognize his name, age, and experience.”

Crixus nodded in acknowledgement before he pulled his helmet over his head. 

“Do you plan on going through the gate?” Duro asked. “That would be an obvious attack.”

“No,” Spartacus said as he took up his shield, “we will go over the wall.”

Duro laughed. “You do know there are three men at different strategic points in your way.”

“And if all are trained as they should, the alarm will be raised before we reach the temple. That is the purpose of guards and patrols,” Spartacus said. 

“Do any of the others know?” Elill asked. He started to light a small fire but looked up when he was met with silence. “Not even Oenomaus? Mira? Naevia?”

Duro grimaced and pinched his brow. “Agron’s does not enjoy jests on the best of days; he will see this as a slight to his position. His lack of presence may also undermine his authority among our kin.”

“What does it matter when they are all to call Spartacus leader?” Crixus asked.

Duro raised his eyes to the heavens. This was punishment, he was certain. “Fuck the gods, Crixus, honestly? You, who are the only reason the Gauls fall in line and remain, would ask such a question? Clearly your head has been smashed into more walls since we last spoke.” He walked over to Spartacus and spoke low so only they would hear. “Do you recall my warning?”

Spartacus nodded. “I required the more experienced fighters. Agron and Crixus would not pull of this task with silence. I will have words with him later.”

“See that you do,” Duro said. He stepped back and crouched down beside Elill, letting the whispered prayers soothe his suddenly frazzled nerves.

“You do not seek to stop or sabotage us?” Spartacus asked. 

Elill opened his eyes and studied Duro. He must’ve seen the weariness there, for he gripped Duro’s hand. “It is not a plan without merits,” Elill said. “Besides, we are worshipping. If they do not hear the clank of metal, leather, and wood in the forest like we did, then perhaps they deserve the shock that is to come.” He let go of Duro’s hand and stood. “May your gods be with you.”

The matter itself was ended with the conversation. Duro gave the trio one last look as they began their march into the woods. He did regret not being present for the result of such a task yet he knew his place was here. He turned from the woods and to the water to wash and watch over Elill and Iodocus. 

*************************

“Where the fuck were you?” Agron roared as he grabbed Duro’s arm and pulled him past the training ground into the temple. “In all the fucking chaos of it, I couldn’t find you.”

“You grabbed my ankle. We passed four people plus the three champions on our way out. I assumed someone would’ve informed you,” Duro said. He patted Agron’s arm until his hold lessened. “We exchanged words with Donar and Naevia. Nasir surely would’ve said something to you.”

Agron looked to where Nasir was training with a clear anger coloring his movements.

“Few words have spilled from his lips this morn,” Agron said. “He does not take well to failure, especially not when breach came to the wall on his watch.”

“They had to go through Donar first,” Elill argued. “Besides there were two men on that wall.”

Agron nodded. “A concern that shall be addressed.” He dropped his eyes to Iodocus and smiled. “I saved some of the morning meal and hid it between your bedrolls. Why don’t you put away your packs and fetch it, Iodocus. You can slip through the lines much easier than the rest of us. Doctore’s temper is far from enjoyable.”

“Missing his whip, I bet,” Duro said. 

Elill covered his mouth but the crinkles around his eyes were sure signs of his laughter. 

Duro happily stood between his brother and Elill, feeling more relaxed than he ought in sharing their company, as Agron filled him in on what occurred once breach was made. Iodocus eagerly listened to the tale when he returned with scraps of bread and a water jug. 

Agron was enjoying his moment as story-teller. It was a special role among their people, to be a keeper of their clan’s knowledge. Their histories were kept in their tongue, their blood, and their memories. Agron didn’t quite have the skill, but his enthusiasm was obvious, until Oenomaus came along and pulled them all back to the present.

“You three were missing at an opportune time,” Oenomaus said.

“We were worshipping,” Duro explained. 

“You?” Oenomaus incredulously asked. 

Duro scoffed. “I can be religiously observant.”

“You once pissed all over a Sacred Tree of Donar,” Agron said.

Duro glared at his brother before turning to Elill. “It looked like all the other trees in the forest.”

Agron smirked and crossed his arms. “Save for the wooden figurines left in offering at the base.”

“I thought some child had lost their toys,” he growled at Agron. He patted Elill’s shoulder. “I promise I did not piss all over the offerings.”

Elill rested his hand on the back of Duro’s neck. “Consider it fortunate for both of us that I desired one who equaled my heart and not my religious devotions.”

Agron sucked his teeth and Duro stomped on his brother’s foot in response. He was allowed a moment and he’d only ruined similar times for Agron once or twice in the past. 

“Seek your pleasure later,” Oenomaus declared. “Duro, Mira needs you to help with her archers. Elill, there are still bruises and cuts to wrap from this morning, see it done. Iodocus, I require your aid in passing out weapons and training some of the weaker fighters. Agron, help Donar teach the sword.”

They all hesitated for a moment until Oenomaus barked, “Now!”

Duro let his fingers linger on Elill’s arm longer than he should, but there was a part of him that would always enjoy seeing the scowl on Doctore’s face. It gave Duro a completely different kind of satisfaction. He knew better than to tempt him too far; still healing or not, Oenomaus could easily take Duro to the ground with one hit. 

The sands were filled with angry yells and curses; everyone seemed of a short temper after their rude awakening. Duro was better at the bow than the sword by leagues and he knew he was a more patient teacher than certain Gauls. It was difficult to train anyone this day though. There was a different tension than the one when Ilithyia dwelled under their roof. Friends, fellow warriors, kin, were spitting venom and insults at each other in a way that would never breed the cohesion required for a successful fighting force. Why should they even try? When their leaders could not refrain from brawling with each other, what cause would the rest have to restrain their impulses? It made Duro recall far too many lessons learned from both his father and mother. He wondered if Agron was purposefully forgetting them in order to be more effective or if somehow, between all the blood and rage, those memories were buried too deep to recall. 

He knew among his kin, the bow was not greatly regarded. They fought mostly with steel and spears in the lands east of the Rhine. Hunting Romans though, was unlike hunting other tribes, Gauls, or boar. This war, and that was clearly the result they worked towards, would require strategy and premeditation. It would require striving for the higher ground and providing cover for attacks and retreats. Not all among them would ever be able to wield a sword or axe with any skill; not for lack of discipline or trying, only for lack of body type. Others would be more suited to the spears and the knives. Archers had their own type, their own requirements to be effective, and Duro was eager to get a whole band of them organized under Mira’s guidance. They lacked Lucius now, their best teacher, and so it fell to a former-house-slave and a junior gladiator to train them all. 

“You look unconvinced of our abilities,” Mira said.

“I cannot find faith in a force where distrust is rampant and each stands alone,” Duro admitted. 

Mira looped her arm through Duro’s. “Never alone,” she said. 

****************************

Of great surprise to no one, least of all Duro, chaos had descended upon the temple in time for midday meal. Oenomaus had called a halt to practice for nourishment and now, everyone fed and rested, Spartacus called them to attention. 

He did not look a man about to make amends for faults in leadership. He did not look in complete control either. Agron and Duro stood apart from him and the other leaders, separated by the temple steps. In that moment, with Nasir and Elill beside him, and all his kin at his back, the gap felt more than just a few feet of sand and stone. Those standing at _Spartacus’_ back looked just as pleased with their leader as the grumbling group Duro stood amidst. It wasn’t only their leader that inspired ire. Naevia looked ready to gut Crixus. 

It all sent a shiver down Duro’s spine as he thought of the possible implications. Even if Duro could never love Spartacus with his whole heart as a brother, he could respect the burdens of his position. Now the man stood, clearly and truly, alone. 

Duro turned from his thoughts when Lugo threw insult Nasir’s way again. Agron was going to get hurt if he had to keep stepping between then. Lugo was the stronger of the two, but Nasir had righteous anger on his side. His hissing revelation of Lugo’s nap upon the wall appeared unknown information to Spartacus.

Duro shook his head in disgust. “We had a whole morning of training without analyzing the breaches in our guardian posts.”

Elill glared at those gathered on the steps. “Miscommunication will see the end of us all.”

“ _And you blame Nasir, you lazy shit_ ,” Agron said as he leaned over Lugo. 

“ _Turn effort from defending your boy, and look upon your own failings_ ,” Crixus yelled at Agron.

“Boy?” Duro hissed. _No one_ , not even Crixus, insulted his brother’s shield-mate like that. Elill grabbed at him, just as Agron turned to take-on Crixus. 

“Later,” Elill advised. His tone was dark and his grip on Duro tight, as if the only thing keeping from reaching for his daggers was the touch of Duro’s skin. 

“ _Then let us relive the moment and seek different fucking result_ ,” Agron yelled at Crixus.

It was only Spartacus’ actions in holding Crixus back and his warning about the Romans eventual attack, that saw Agron from the steps without another’s blood upon his hands. He exchanged a look with Duro, a furious nod to anyone else, but to them it was their signal. Duro finally stood down.  
Naevia looked far from pleased with Spartacus and Crixus as well. It was good to know some much needed discussion would finally occur between their leaders. Duro almost stumbled as he re-examined that thought. Fuck the fucking gods, he _was_ starting to think like one of the clan’s peacekeepers. 

As angry yells went among the crowd once again for explanations of actions and lack of weapons, Duro let it all wash over him, the mixture of curses and complaints in a whole series of different tongues. It was only when Saxa muttered curses towards Mira and Duro’s efforts of teaching the bow, that he intervened. 

Duro reached over and tapped the back of Saxa’s head at her words. “Respect,” he reminded her.

She growled at him and Agron before continuing a rapid string of curses under her breath.

“What does she say?” Iodocus asked.

“She is certainly not praising Spartacus or Mira’s oration skills,” Elill said.

Duro looked at him in surprise. 

Elill shrugged. “I am learning some of your tongue. There are certain words oft repeated whose meaning is obvious.”

Saxa demanded an answer for why Ilithyia was released when Glaber did not uphold his end of the bargain. Duro watched Agron’s body tense as he hesitated to translate the sentiment. There was a certain implication to the words in their tongue; a demand for answer or a call for mutiny. Only Saxa was brave enough to make such an argument and Duro wondered how Agron would translate it.

His voice was oddly calm when stating a question that could start a war among their kin. Duro cupped the back of Agron’s neck, a gesture hidden by Elill’s placement at his side. He saw Agron’s shoulders drop and his body relax. It was good, needed, required for Agron to regain a sense of balance when everyone else around them was demanding blood, from Nasir, to Crixus, to Naevia. 

“I hope you’ve managed to restock the bandages,” Duro said to Elill. “A whole day spent planning for attack? There will be injury after injury.”

“And from what I have heard many of those cuts will belong to you. Did you really take a shield to the face multiple times?” Elill asked.

“I was proving my honor,” Duro said.

“It explains so very much,” Iodocus muttered. 

Duro mussed his hair and smiled when Iodocus scoffed in disgust. Hero worship was being replaced by something deeper and more meaningful. Duro would gladly call him a younger brother, when Iodocus would allow himself to take such a title.

Oenomaus took control of the lessons, insisting he didn’t need or want Gannicus’ aid in the matter. Duro didn’t like the Celt, even if somewhere along his mother and uncle’s line, they could probably trace shared kin, but Gannicus’ skill with the blades was not to be mocked. It seemed a foolish and stubborn act that Doctore would not commit, though clearly _Oenomaus_ would.

Agron cupped Nasir’s chin when Oenomaus ordered him to retake position on the wall with Lugo.

“Do not needlessly provoke him,” Agron cautioned. “You’ll have a much better chance of besting him on the ground.”

Duro snorted. “I do not think you are meant to encourage his ire, brother.”

“He is correct to be so angered,” Agron argued.

“Not if it will see his ankle twisted again,” Elill warned. 

Nasir’s smile was small. “I would not seek to disappoint a messenger of the gods so.”

Elill narrowed his eyes before smacking the back of Nasir’s head. “Blasphemer,” he chastised.

Nasir grinned even as Oenomaus barked orders to the other.

Donar, Lydon, Nemetes, and Saxa were ordered to train with Oenomaus. Elill was also pulled to the side. “Go with the archers,” Oenomaus said, “and be my eyes among them. Tell me of any who are too weak to hold the position on the frontline. You know the tells of the body.”

“Yes, Oenomaus,” Elill said.

“And what of us?” Duro ask as he patted Iodocus head.

“Iodocus has been requested to help with the tunnels again,” Oenomaus said. 

“Tunnels?” Elill asked. “What have you been doing with the tunnels?”

Iodocus eyes widened and he looked to Duro for explanation. Duro shook his head, not willing to step into this fray.

“I—I have been helping them dig. My stature makes it easier to fit where others cannot,” Iodocus said. His voice only trembled a little as he made his confession.

Elill’s lips twisted in displeasure. “At least you finally admit the truth to me.” He kneeled down to Iodocus’ height and gripped his shoulders. “I only sought your protection, though you are going to know the things which feel best in your own heart. Never fear that I will seek repercussions when you only desire to aid a greater cause.” 

“Reminds me of a young acolyte trained by a gladiator on occasion,” Oenomaus said. He patted Elill’s head, smiling at the sound of annoyance which arose. “Perhaps your gods will be kind and see the one you mentored stand taller than your own head.”

“And with sharper wit,” Elill said. He kissed both of Iodocus’ cheeks and murmured a benediction. “Now, off with you. Go dig in the rock and the earth. Yell if you get stuck.”

Iodocus grinned and ran up the steps, meeting Drusa who greeted him with a pleased word.

“So young to have so many women already charmed,” Duro said. “Goat fuck,” he cursed when Elill flicked his ear. 

He was already halfway out the gates before Duro could counter the attack. Fucking Corybantes and their swift feet. His brother’s joyful laugh caught Duro’s attention only to find him gleefully patting Spartacus’ chest before descending the steps. He grabbed Duro in a headlock as he passed.

“Come, brother, we finally have use for you,” Agron declared.

“I will bite,” Duro warned.

Agron let him go so fast he stumbled, but kept his feet, much to the vocal disappointment of Crixus.

“It has been too long since I’ve seen you eat sand, pup,” he yelled across the yard. 

“Then you must eat enough for both of us,” Duro replied. He turned to Agron and poked the dimples on his face. “What brings you such joy?”

“We go to find much needed supply,” Agron whispered. “Harudes and Fulco will join us.”

“Steel?” Duro asked.

Agron shook his head. “Wine.”

Duro felt his brow rise in surprise. “With Spartacus’ approval?”

Agron nodded. “Grab decent boots for travel, not those pathetic sandals on your feet. Meet me on the path.”

 

Duro hurried past various groups gathered in the hall to discuss the training only to find Elill at their bedroll, preparing himself for an afternoon of activity under the sun. His hair was pulled back into one long plait that he wound around his head and secured with twine.

Duro silently tugged on his pair of boots before sliding a hand across Elill’s bare back.

Elill turned his head in surprise. Duro pulled him into a quick kiss. “I go with my brother to cause some mischief. Do not injure yourself while we are gone.”

“Mischief?” Elill questioned. He held Duro’s face in his hands and studied him. “Does Spartacus know?”

“He approved it; required it even,” Duro said. 

“Don’t get hurt,” Elill called after him. 

Duro grinned in response. He jogged down the steps, dodging the washers and bread makers, before skittering onto the path where Agron waited. Duro took the sword held out to him. He noticed the carvings notched into the leather scabbard, images of their family’s shield crest. 

“When did you find the time?” Duro asked. 

“Donar suggested I do something to occupy my idle hands and mind after your death. It was before I met Nasir and only blood brought distraction,” Agron admitted. “How does the weight feel?”

Duro pulled out the sword and tested its balance. It was lighter than the one he trained with at the temple. “It suits me well.”

“As I guessed it would,” Agron said. He pressed his forehead to Duro’s own. “I know you, brother.”

In that moment they could’ve been back home, three years ago, when the threat war seemed a distant worry. Duro gripped his brother’s forearms and stood with him. It was a little gesture, and yet, it meant more to Duro than any other possible reward. 

“Let us see to this raid,” Duro said as he pulled back. 

It felt a blessing to finally run, hunt, and fight beside Agron again. It brought its own rush to have one at his side he had known since birth. The world finally started to feel completely right again. Perhaps there _was_ something to making offerings to the gods if it brought these blessings.


	10. Nine

“Do you not think it odd that the act Spartacus once condemned you for is now the one he charged you to commit?” Duro asked as he guided the mule and its wine-cart back to the temple. 

“Who is the suspicious fuck now?” Agron asked as he roughly ran his knuckles over Duro’s hair.

Harudes and Fulco laughed as he shrugged off his brother. Duro wish he could so easily join in celebration; a year ago he surely would have without hesitation, but experience and its lessons were finally sinking through his thick skull. Duro could not help the suspicion at Spartacus’ true motivations. He was never a man who favored frivolity, nor did he favor simplistic action. Each word that fell from his tongue held hidden meaning. 

It still baffled Duro to find Agron so loyal to such a man. He wondered the truth of what must’ve happened in the time between, that void when Agron thought him torn from this world. His brother would never reveal the full tale, perhaps not even aware of how deeply he gave into the bloodlust that was forever his burden. Agron lost his head in battle, easily distracted in the same way Duro found himself distracted when fighting for show. Agron _was_ capable of seeing the greater end to an action or battle, yet he forever remained vulnerable to his own emotions. He was always looking behind, next to, or near him; never right on his opponent unless it was time for the kill. Duro was not without this own faults in that matter; it nearly brought his own end, but his fighting style still remained more suited to the chaos of a battle. 

“Has the priest stolen all your words?” Agron teased. “Time was you wouldn’t hold tongue even with a mouth full of food.”

“He could have them, if he so desired,” Duro admitted. “Yet it is my own concern which stops them now.”

Agron sighed. “You once stood proudly next to Spartacus and his plans for—”

“Escape,” Duro said. “I knew rebellion had to follow. That does not mean I can quietly sit by while he favors those who would not follow until presented lack of true choice while ignoring your support.”

“He does not,” Agron insisted. “I am not the only voice he seeks, nor should he. Mira knows more of Rome’s lands and rules than any other.”

“But did Lucius have claim of Brotherhood older than yours when Spartacus listened more to his words than your own on _our_ people?”

“ _You_ were the one so adamant about having the fucking Gauls at our back,” Agron said.

“There was no other way to take the ludus without their aid,” Duro said. “As any leader could see that.”

Agron grunted. “I have been trying to do what is best for our numbers as a whole. I want us to see freedom.”

Duro laughed at his brother, though the sound lacked joy. “The only true freedom we have before us is death. We’ve begun a war with Rome while we lack steel, true strategy, numbers of warriors, and any chance of hope.”

Agron gripped the back of Duro’s neck. “The odds we’ve always had be it here or at home. I will see you through this.”

Duro snorted and gripped his side. “Yes, it served me so well _last_ time, brother. I fought a sword to your back _two_ fucking times before it finally got me. No, _we_ will see each other though it this time. Perhaps between me, Nasir, and Elill we can all see your back covered without any more wounds to poor abused sides. Though, I suppose Elill should earn one to complete the set.”

“And ruin such perfect skin?” Agron teased.

Tackling his brother for such words was really the only respectable course of action.

*************************

Wine and sport; Duro could almost be back in Germania if it wasn’t for the heat. There was a self-satisfied sparkle to Spartacus’ eyes and even though Duro still partook of the wine, he did so at a much slower pace than some of the others. Even as celebration overtook them, Duro remained suspicious. Months of recovery in Elill’s temple and rebellion could not have changed Spartacus as a man that much. He was there at Oenomaus’ bedside when he offered confession of once having his drink drugged by Spartacus’ hands. Ulterior motives were a constant to their leader, rather than a surprise. 

“He is smiling oddly,” Duro said. He took a moment to grin at where his brother acted like a besotted fool with Nasir, before resuming his speech. “Such an expression brings deadly purpose.”

“Or a speech soon to come,” Elill agreed. He had not touched the wine yet, spending most of the afternoon so far huddled in conversation with Oenomaus, one of the other rare few who passed on the wine. Elill stood, trailing fingers down Duro’s arm as he left. “I’ve been tasked with helping those in the tunnels. Not all of us can keep to joyous celebration. Do tell me how the speech-giving goes?”

“You leave?” Duro asked. He moved to follow, but Elill pushed him back down. 

“I do. Enjoy this time with your brethren. It’ll be good for your kin, to see you laughing and bonding with all. Rabanus looks lonely; I am certain he will talk you to death about his spear. Gods know it is his favorite topic when he approaches me.”

Duro narrowed his eyes at his old friend. He always was a treacherous fuck. Never trust a man who throws a net. “We will have words,” he swore.

“You will have jests,” Elill insisted. “It was all done with good intent. Now, I order you to enjoy this rare moment of respite and flee from such suspicion.” He cupped Duro’s cheek. “I do not like to see it cloud your eyes so.”

Duro tugged Elill close for a brief moment, a slight teasing pass of lips upon lips, before letting him go again. Elill was never the type to shirk his duty.

He watched Elill disappear into the darkened halls of the temple before sliding off the broken marble slab that served as his bench. He found Mira and Naevia laughing at his brother and wrapped his arms around them both.

“What have I missed?” he asked.

Naevia playfully shrugged him off, but Mira leaned into his side and winked at Agron and Nasir. “Oh, I was just recounting my tale of interrupting their guard duty. So dedicated to the cause those two were they could not even be parted from their sentry wall.”

Duro’s taunt was cut off as Spartacus raised his glass. He groaned quietly. “Oh, here he goes.”

Mira’s snuffling laughs were a welcome sound. It was good to see smile returned to her face, even if only put there by distraction. Duro cheered on Donar when he was called to pair with Nemetes, even if he thought the match would end with each permanently taking the other out. He was as surprised as the rest when Spartacus then bade Lugo and Nasir forward. Three Germans of various clans and a Roman-raised Syrian? That couldn’t _possibly_ end in blood.

“Nasir will win,” Mira said. “He has fire.”

“He will put up a good fight, but he remains outweighed, out-skilled, and out-experienced by the other two, well three,” Duro admitted. “Of course, even a fucking child could see this is not about the victor, but the match.”

“A common purpose,” Mira agreed, “easily fueled by wine and competition.”

“And blood,” Duro said. “There must always be blood in this crowd.”

Duro could not hear the words Lugo spoke to Nasir, but there must have been insult when Nasir went running after Nemetes. He took him down with a flying tackle. Lugo followed in similar manner, falling on Donar who stood and braced himself for the impact.

Duro punched his brother in the back as the whole crowd moved towards the sands. “Who could have possibly taught them that?”

“It seems more your style, brother,” Agron answered. He looked behind Duro. “Elill is absent?”

“He works in the tunnels with the dutiful others while we celebrate.”

Spartacus joined them, patting Agron on the back. “Your gains see us to good fortune. Though I did not yet tell them to begin.”

“We will work on battle discipline tomorrow,” Agron said with a laugh. 

 

**********************

If Elill was present, Nasir’s bloodied lip would already be cleaned and covered with some foul-smelling concoction he claimed had healing properties. He was still below the sand and stone of the temple though, and Nasir was left to handle his injury on his own. Duro would offer to help, but the soft smiles and teasing touches that passed between Agron and Nasir showed all was well. Duro left them to their moment, and their privacy. It was not often someone could make his brother embrace anything approaching tender moment in full view of perceived enemies. 

Yes, if it wasn’t for the heat, Duro could easily picture all this back under the towering treetops that made their home. 

Saxa and Mira were in the middle of a fierce battle against Camilla and Harudes. They all stood little chance of winning with Saxa in such a joyous mood. Duro’s mind was not truly on the fight. He cheered when action called for it, and sneered when required, as he was firmly on Mira and Saxa’s side, but his thoughts kept turning to absent friends. 

“Your thoughts are not on the match,” Iodocus said. He had streaks of stone dust across his cheeks and in his hair. “Elill figured as much. He’s washing traces of our work off, if you wish to see him.”

Spartacus had just called Oenomaus and Gannicus to the sands to fight Crixus and Agron. It was an unfair match from the set, yet Duro still wouldn’t mind seeing his brother’s face smashed into the sand for once. 

“We all know who will win this fight. Unless you desire to see Gannicus fumble around in the sands, this will be over before you reach the end of the hall,” Iodocus said.

Duro frowned. “My brother and Crixus do have some skill.”

“Compared to Oenomaus and the last gladiator standing in fight between multiple gladiators surrounded by a ring of fire?”

Iodocus had a very clear point, one even Duro wouldn’t fight. “I concede this round, Celt.”

“Only because you so desire to see Elill with hair unbound.”

Duro hopped up from his spot. “You said nothing of unbound hair.” He patted Iodocus’ shoulder. “I expect a full account of the match when I return.”

“If Elill lets you,” Iodocus teased.

Duro shook his head in disbelief. Iodocus had always been a smart young man, but coupled with time among this lot, he’d gotten downright mouthy. Duro only lingered to pat Nasir on the shoulder. 

“You fought well today, brother. Proving your worth is not always about winning a fight, but showing your dedication.” Duro wrinkled his nose. “I well know the pain of such a lesson.”

Nasir grinned in a way that revealed Agron had told at least some of their past from the ludus. Or perhaps it was Crixus; the fucking Gaul gossiped more than the old warriors from Duro’s clan.

“You do not stay?” Nasir asked.

Duro looked out on the sands, spying the uncertain set of Agron’s shoulders. The nervous tell could only be seen by someone who had known him for over twenty years. Agron knew he was going to lose this one, but at least Crixus would fail with him. 

“I have soothed the sting of loss often over the years,” Duro said. He ruffled Nasir’s hair as he passed. “I gladly give you the full responsibility of that task.”

It was hard to turn from the loud laughter of the crowd, to not linger on the excitement of the fight, but Duro was aware that his life was starting to come down to the little choices as well as the big ones. The Romans could attack at any moment, probably would since Ilithyia was released. These last hours could be spent in the familiar and welcome joy of companionship with his brother’s shield-mate, surrounded by kin, or they could be passed with the new possibilities that sent welcome chills through his body.

Duro always was a more curious child than his brother. The darkness meant fear to their people; a warning not to stray too far or risk becoming part of the Wild Hunt. Duro always favored the thrill of running through it though; finding risk to be its own reward. Experience had tempered some of that, but there would still always be part of him that eagerly took the chance of spotting Odin on his horse, and following the ghostly sound of braying hounds on the wind, rather than staying in the secure comfort of brotherly arms and light of the family home. 

This was the choice he willingly made now, knowing that if Agron if realized his absence, he would understand the reason. They both traveled this road together; they just had their own side paths to follow. 

He found Elill at the small fountain, just off the stairs leading down into the tunnel. He was attempting to wash his hair with the small stream from ancient spouts using only a tiny dish and scrap of cloth. It would’ve been an amusing sight if it wasn’t for the fact that even this was done with an inherent grace. 

Duro was not a stranger to seeing Elill’s bare skin; he’d studied it now with both the eyes of a friend and a lover, and yet somehow this still felt more intimate. Just the two of them, below the rock, with all other eyes either set to task or enjoying sport. Privacy was not a thing known to them since fleeing Capua. Duro allowed himself this moment to study the path small water droplets took as they dripped from the strands of Elill’s hair, down his body, and to the floor.

“I can hear you breathing,” Elill teased. 

“At least one of us knows I still have breath,” Duro said. He finally moved from the the threshold and took up one of the small bowls. He filled it with water and stretched his legs and arms to dump it over Elill’s head. “You should have covered your hair before you went down into that muck.”

“Wise words I could’ve used earlier,” Elill admitted. “I have not spent so much time actually cutting out the rock. I did not realize it would be so,” he shook a fistful of his hair, “unfortunate.” 

Duro dared a kiss at Elill’s hesitation, laughing when cold, wet hands gripped his face and held him closer. Elill’s hair was a heavy weight as Duro wound his hands in it, water trailing down his forearms as Elill delved deeper into Duro’s mouth and Duro grabbed on to anything that would keep his legs steady. 

A cheer loud enough to echo even where they stood pulled Elill away from him. “Who fights now?”

“My brother and Crixus against Oenomaus and Gannicus,” Duro said.

“A result easily predicted,” Elill said. “Good to see Spartacus has some sense, making fighting fools bond as they seek a single purpose. I almost have faith in him after this day.”

“You?” Duro questioned. “The man who drove off multiple head priests in his temple for not meeting standards? Spartacus does not know the honor bestowed upon him.”

“No, he does not,” Elill agreed. He stepped back to lean over the small lip of the fountain and squeeze the extra moisture from his hair into the tiny pool below. “Let us rejoin our friends. I would have words with Oenomaus to see if old wounds are newly soothed.”

“You think such insults so easily forgotten with a few thrown fists?” Duro questioned.

Elill laughed at him. “Your brother greets your return from supposed death with a punch and you question other men’s bonding?”

Duro could not find words to argue that one.

 

********************

 

Duro rested his head on Elill’s shoulder as night started to creep into the land. He listened with half a mind as Oenomaus, Elill, and Gannicus laughed over stories of old, talking of men and women Duro had never met, all likely dead now. 

“Whatever happened to that other Syrian?” Gannicus asked. “The one you clung to like a child to its mother’s skirts?”

Duro pressed his lips to Elill skin when he felt the pulse jump. 

“Adad left the temple a year or so after Melitta's death. Words have not been exchanged since,” Elill said with a voice that sounded far off. 

“Adad?” Nasir asked. He’d been on the outskirts of their conversation the whole night. Duro thought him lost in his own world with Agron. Clearly Nasir was capable of holding one conversation while listening to another. “You knew an Adad?”

Elill’s whole body tensed at Nasir’s words and Duro was surprised to feel a slight tremor in those always steady hands. 

“I did,” Elill admitted. “We grew up together in a temple. We were taken at the same time and brought to Rome together.”

Nasir’s eyes fixated on Elill’s hip, in the exact spot Duro knew the Mark of Ishtar was tattooed into his skin. 

“The son of Anat always found with the sons of Tiamat,” Nasir whispered. He met Elill’s eyes and smiled. “Your mother was a healer. Adad, he called you something, some name that is not Elill.

“ _Aḫu_ ,” Elill said. “He called me aḫu. It means _brother_ in the Akkadian tongue.”

“Aḫu,” Nasir repeated, the words sounding clumsy on his tongue. “Yes. He yelled it at you when you got the star. You didn’t tell him and he only saw the blood.”

Elill’s fingers twitched before they rested on his left hip. His eyes were fogged with memories. “He was angry at me for taking the full vows without his knowledge. I knew he didn’t wish to join the priesthood, but he would never want to leave me on my own. We orphans were to stick together.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “The leaving got easier when we were older.”

Nasir sat down beside them. His hand hesitated just a moment before it rested atop Elill’s own. “He was in Rome? Like you?”

Elill nodded. “For a time. Apologies, Nasir, I know not what has become of him. He was given a chance for freedom and lands from a wealthy patron of the temple.”

Nasir slowly nodded his head. “We will speak more of this later.” 

Their little corner remained in silence as the weight of revelation took hold. Even Agron kept his tongue still as he emerged from the shadows. No words were required as he met first Duro’s eyes, then Elill’s, and finally Nasir’s. 

“I have done my part for this night,” Gannicus said as he broke the silence. He patted Oenomaus’ shoulder. “Come, let us seek more wine. Or I shall seek the wine and you shall watch me drink it, as we teach these Germans my favorite song.”

“None of them deserve such a punishment,” Oenomaus said. “I seek my bed. You seek your wine.”

Gannicus shook his head at all of them. “Health and youth wasted before me. I seek the wall for better entertainment.”

Duro snorted. “Yes, Spartacus is nothing if not a man full of joyous youth and all the fucking frivolity in Rome.”

Their laughter had just faded, chasing Gannicus’ back as he climbed the wall, when a yell came from the guards. A signal shone from the mountain top.

The Romans had finally discovered them.


End file.
